


Watch Your Back

by Team_Alpha_Wolf_Squadron



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Alpha_Wolf_Squadron/pseuds/Team_Alpha_Wolf_Squadron
Summary: Clark had a weird couple of days. Someone was trying to kill him, and to make things even more suspicious a new kid has turned up at Smallville High.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this. It's quite dark, so be warned. The whole thing is actually already written, for once, so I'll be posting the second and third chapter in the next coming days.

Clark was having a somewhat odd couple of days. It started when he went to the Talon for something quick to drink, and maybe try his luck with Lana again. He was sure he could get her to think of him as a more than a friend, maybe even already there. He was sure she had been more friendly to him than usual these past few weeks, but until Clark actually saw something definitive he didn't know for sure.

So, he had put his plan in motion, asking about her day in between coffee orders, and was pleased to see her lingering a little longer at the counter just to talk to him. He had successfully gotten the agreement to be a study buddy when something whacked at the back of his head. He thought nothing of it at the time, it felt like nothing more than a pin pricking against his skull. Didn't even hurt, and he knew there were some people with kids here so it wasn't that farfetched to think one of them had threw something.

It was only as he turned, making sure it wasn't anything important that he caught sight of the bullet. He'd seen enough of them being the son of a farmer and living his dangerous high school life to be sure that, yep, that was a bullet. Hoping no one had seen, he hid it under his boot, carefully picking it up and throwing it to the garbage when he got out.

He blamed the shock of being actually bulletproof for the reason he didn't feel the next one. Or the one after that until the two of them crunched under his feet. Since they were nothing more than ground up metal by the time he stepped clear of them Clark didn't see the need to do away with them as well, but it just proved the point that it wasn't a one off. He was bulletproof. Someone had shot at him. Someone wanted him dead.

Damn.

He was on his guard for the shooter after that, looking around at familiar faces for those who would have a reason to kill him. So far, no one came to mind. He knew everyone here since he was a kid, and since there was no one new amongst the faces he saw he was starting to grow a little concerned. It was probably why he went to Lex.

Of course, he didn't tell his friend that there was someone trying to kill him. For one, that would put Lex on guard and before Clark knew it he would have bodyguards galore trailing him. Not conductive for someone who wanted to keep a low profile. For two, he didn't want his friend to worry. Lex had enough on his plate trying to outsmart his father without Clark distracting him. So he phrased his dilemma in such a way that would seem harmless, a hypothetical, "You know a lot about the underworld. What exactly would someone be looking for if they had a hit on them?"

Thankfully Lex had been asked many such questions like this over the course of their friendship and didn't even bat an eye. He poured himself a drink, maybe paced a bit around Clark to see where this line of question was coming from, but he wasn't withholding any information. "Well Clark, God forbid they try and off you in the first place. With your good luck, I don't think they'd even get close. But if someone did have a hit on them, I'd say look for anything out of the ordinary, and also anything too ordinary. If something looks just right there's probably something wrong with it."

Clark nodded, filing that information away for later and quickly changed the subject to his Lana dilemma.

Lex being the source of all knowledge that he was, had advice coming out of his ears for Clark on the Lana front well into the evening. He was more than glad, when it turned six, to phone his parents and tell them he was staying over at Lex's for dinner. His mom didn't begrudge him, she knew herself not to pass up a free meal, and only some faint grumbling over the line from his dad had him slightly guilty he was passing up a Kent family dinner.

"Still not my biggest fan, is he?" Lex said as Clark hung up.

"He just has a hard time seeing past the Luthor name." Even if Lex had proven time and again he was nothing like his father. Right now, Clark thought it was high time for Jonathan Kent to start doing some proving of his own. "So, what are we eating?"

The answer was a Spanish dish Lex spent ten minutes telling Clark the history of. Delicious. Not to mention far enough away from the subject of assassins that Clark could easily relax into his seat.

Later he would remember what Lex had said about things being too normal, since his dinner with Lex was as normal as it got. Tasty and with good company. There wasn't one interruption throughout the whole hour they sat there. No one coming in with phones for Lex to answer, or papers for him to sign. No housekeeping duties that needed his approval or even servants coming to ask if everything was alright. Really, it wasn't until the scream went up from somewhere in the manor that Clark's hackles raised.

The scream came from the kitchen, the source, a maid who had found one of Lex's cooks. The guy looked in pain even before Clark saw his face. There was foam coming out his mouth, veins around his eyes and every inch of him screamed agony. His hands were clawed and body already rigid despite the fact the death looked recent.

Lex went into full panic mode, locking down the manor and herding Clark up to his study to wait for the police. "You shouldn't have to see this," Lex said, despite the two of them knowing Clark had seen this and worse since he'd come to Smallville.

Nevertheless, he waited in Lex's study, answered what little questions the police had for Clark and felt Lex's wondering gaze when the cause of death turned out to be poison.

"Strangely it was only found on one plate," the police informed. Clark had no doubts as to whose plate, as the police went on the theorise that the cook had been tasting the dish before it went out and became the unknown victim. "I would get checked out if I were you Mr Luthor."

"Oh I will," Lex promised, despite the fact he didn't look at all worried for himself. More, he was watching Clark like a bloodhound.

When the police left, Lex drove the two of them like a madman to the hospital himself, Clark's parents meeting them in the lobby when he had rung them, panicking, from the car. They managed to make some excuse up for him, thankfully, which left only Lex to get checked out.

"What happened?" Jonathan asked, the three of them having found a private corner of the waiting room to wait for Lex. "One moment you tell me you're having dinner with Lex and the next someone's poisoned him."

"Not him," Clark corrected, wondering if poisons even worked with his biology. He didn't feel woozy, maybe he was immune. "It doesn't matter," He said when he got more concerned looks after that. "Really."

Of course, his dad just had to check, "No one knows your secret, do they Clark?"

"No."

Which was the end of it, for now.

He was the talk of the school the next day. Somehow, the poisoning had made front page news, and since the reporter didn't believe in keeping minors out of the media, his name was listed amongst Lex's. Not only that, they seemed to hypothesise that this was another grand Luthor scheme, telling everyone to be on their guard. Clark was just thankful that Smallville high wasn't the most literate high school, the gossip that spread instead giving Clark a more sympathetic outlook than potential murderer.

Chloe was all over it, naturally. One whiff of a good story and she wouldn't leave Clark alone for the whole day. "But you have to give an interview. We need to hear your story Clark, now, before things get more twisted."

"I said no."

Which just meant Chloe was even more determined. At one point, she even followed him into the bathroom, an experience he never wanted to repeat. There was nothing worse than needing to pee and having a very female friend there not only warring between looking and not looking but fishing for a story too.

He felt justified after that incident to use his powers to get home. Naturally he couldn't escape the weirdness there. Not only were his parents worried sick at things they didn't know about, but around dinner time he had the Luthor's knocking on his door.

Lex he let in with no problem, save the muttered curses from Jonathan in the kitchen, but Lionel, well he got his dad out to deal with that Luthor.

"Is everything alright?" Clark asked.

"Fine," Lex said, fingering his blazer like he wasn't sure he was welcome or not. "Just thought I'd chance a Kent family dinner. Don't know about you put poison isn't really a good garnish." Turning a quick begging look to his mother Clark said it was fine, eagerly taking Lex's blazer and hanging it up as Jonathan kicked Lionel out for good. "Naturally he's been sniffing around," Lex explained, watching his father linger on the porch. "It's nothing to do with my wellbeing. More, he's distraught someone managed to get past the manor's defences and tried to off me. Well…" he trailed off, the _you_ left unspoken between them. "You wanna tell me who you've pissed off?"

"Who says I have?" Clark countered. Lex rolled his eyes, the proof he'd figured out Clark's seemingly innocent question wasn't so innocent yesterday clear in that one look. "Okay fine. The past few days I've had some lucky breaks. The who behind it, I really don't know. Honest."

He must have looked sincere since Lex didn't call him a liar. Instead, he spent the majority of the time before Martha called dinner thinking about who could want Clark dead. The only thing the two of them could definitively come up with by that time was that it was probably someone connected to the Luthor name. Smallville was much too close knit for someone to just decide to up and off Clark so it had to be someone from the outside. Someone with connections, which led them to the Luthor name. The only reason they were probably targeting Clark was because he either knew something he wasn't supposed to, which in that case would mean Lionel had probably put out the hit, or they were trying to kill him to get to Lex. "Loathe as I am to admit there are some people out there who would like to see me suffer."

With promises to look into this more Lex left to try and make peace with his father, see if he could wheedle out any information on that front. Left with his parents Clark invented some excuse that got them off his back for the rest of the evening, retreating to his room to finish his homework.

It was just as he was changing into his pyjamas that the assassin struck again. They hadn't went for bullets this time. Or poison. Instead there was an arrow, a real, honest to God arrow he'd seen being sold at the hunting store in town, bouncing clean off his chest and onto the floor.

Shock had him still, long enough for his brain to remember he could probably figure out who shot the arrow if he booted back online. But, of course, by the time he did come back to himself, the assassin was probably long gone, and the most Clark could figure out was that whoever it was had most likely fired it from the trees to the south of the farm. That was quite a way off too, he noted, peering through his frame just in case the assassin was still there. Far enough away that the guy would have to possess some strength and a whole lot of accuracy to get it through Clark's bedroom window in the first place never mind actually hit its target.

He was starting to grow worried. Not only because this guy knew Clark hadn't been taken down by bullets and poison. He just had to hope the guy thought he had armour or something on.

Still, life went on and Clark had to go to school the next morning like there wasn't an arrow hiding under his bed from a late-night assassination. Chloe, naturally, was waiting like a dog with a bone as soon as he got in. She sprung out of nowhere, latching onto his arm like she had nowhere better to be and started on about another interview.

"Come on Clark, please? If not then I'll have to fill the front page with the new kid, and I'm sure Smallville high is sick of pet pieces like that."

"New kid?"

Chloe pointed him out, and how Clark could have missed him at all was a mystery. The guy was, well, he was just plain handsome. Already half the cheer squad was eyeing him, as well as almost every kid that passed him. Dark hair, pale skin and cheekbones that could only have come from years of elite inbreeding coupled with a form fitting turtleneck and Clark couldn't bring himself to look away for a good few minutes either. Not least because the kid was looking their way. He figured he'd heard Chloe, she was being loud enough, but there was something about the way he was just looking at Clark that had him thinking it was a different reason.

"Don't know about you Chloe," he said looking at all the attention the kid was getting, "But I think your earlier assessment of what Smallville high wants needs to be revaluated. If you ask me I think they would love to hear all about the new kid."

It turned out the kid was in most of Clark's classes. Practically all of them, including the advanced ones he'd been placed in when his test scores were off the roof. He was quiet, blending in with the classroom so much that the teachers didn't even bother with their usual testing out the new kid. He wasn't called on, he wasn't talked to by the others, by the time the bell rang for lunch Clark hadn't heard him talk at all yet.

"Please!" Chloe begged when they met up. "Please, please, please!"

Even Pete looked sick of her, telling Clark to "Just do it."

"No," Clark said, bracing himself to ignore Chloe for the rest of lunch as she repeated her pleas again and again.

Which, Clark realised, never came. She was still with her notepad and pen out, but instead of her eager bloodhound gaze resting on Clark, they locked on to someone behind him. The new kid.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

"Go ahead," Chloe said, already picking herself up from her seat next to Clark to get in a better interview position. "It's Bruce right? Bruce Al Ghul."

"That's correct," the kid, Bruce, said, a winning smile sent Chloe's way. Clark had to smother the laugh that wanted to burst out as her cheeks flushed under the attention. "I thought I would get ahead of the press, so to speak. The girls tell me the paper always does a piece on the new kid." Said girls were sending their evilest glares their way.

All thoughts on getting Clark Kent to give an interview were out the window now Bruce had turned up. Chloe was practically glued to her pad, jotting down everything he said even after the interview was done. Clark was thankful for the lack of attention, so much so that he offered to walk Bruce to their next class.

He was just that inch shorter than Clark, but able to keep up with his stride as they made their way to Chemistry. Clark was thinking of something to say, going over what Bruce had given up to Chloe. The fact he was from Central City, and moved here because his father had gotten a job. He could have asked what it was like to grow up in the city, but Bruce had already answered that question, repeating it now might just make him sound stupid. For some reason, he didn't want Bruce to think him stupid. He could always ask about science, or one of their subjects. But Clark eventually decided to play it safe and go with football, everyone liked football.

Everyone except Bruce. "Don't know," He said when Clark asked about the odds of the next Metropolis, Central City game. "I haven't really kept up with it." Clark should have just went with subjects. Thankfully, Bruce seemed to be able to hold a conversation since he saved it by asking about Clark's own experience. "I hear you're on the team," allowing Clark to cover his lapse with talk about Smallville's odds on their next game.

He kept with Bruce the rest of the day, his good nature telling him to make Bruce's first day as welcoming as possible. It turned out, after they got past the uncomfortable first conversation, Bruce was surprisingly easy to talk to. He listened like he had all the time in the world for Clark, offering little tid bits of advice here and there. He was witty, funny, and more intelligent than his good looks. When Chloe finally caught up again to try one last time for an interview Clark surprised himself out of a conversation debating the merits of interdimensional travel.

He was actually disappointed to have to stop, but Clark had chores at home and Bruce had probably something to get back to as well. So, Clark said goodbye, promising Bruce if he ever needed someone to talk physics too he was always an open ear and hurried home.

Lex was waiting for him when he got there. Tossing off his coat and rolling up his sleeves he had Clark slowing down to regular speed as he helped out with some of the chores around the farm. The two of them were arm thick in mud when Lex finally broached the reason he was there. "It wasn't my dad," he said. "I asked, hinted and even investigated myself but he's either a really good liar or doesn't have a clue what's going on. Considering I can always sniff him out of a lie I'm going with the latter."

"So, what, it's you?"

Lex nodded. "I'm still having feelers out for my dad, but it's looking more and more likely they're going after you because of me. I don't know who yet, or why, but I'll find out. Until then, you'll be careful, won't you?"

"Of course." The arrow in Clark's room notwithstanding this was the first day there hadn't been an attempt on his life.

Lex stayed until it got dark, Clark getting the sense he wasn't wholly comfortable in his own home yet. He would have offered a bed at his house, but, well, his dad was already herding Lex out.

Bruce, more comfortable on his second day, didn't sit all the way at the back of the classroom. Instead, when Pete or Chloe left an empty seat, he took the one next to Clark. He was dressed as impeccably as he was on his first day, a silk shirt replacing the jumper this time. Clark was honestly happy to see it, he knew for a fact it was hot, being near summer and all, and didn't know how Bruce had withstood yesterday. No matter how nice the wool had been, Bruce could stay perfectly pale without it.

"Wrong," Bruce whispered to him in Chemistry.

"What?"

He nodded to the board, "Number three, he got the equation wrong. No matter who goes up there to solve it they'll be getting it wrong. No doubt the teacher will blame the pupil though."

Clark looked and, sure enough, Bruce was right. "You could say something," Clark suggested.

Bruce gave him a look like the very idea horrified him. "Won't I be reprimanded?"

Clark mulled it over, but Chemistry was taught by one of the more pleasant teachers at Smallville high. "She'll probably thank you for it."

Yet Bruce kept his hand down, and eventually Clark was the one to correct the teacher when three pupils went up and got it wrong every time with no apparent reason why. Of course, he was expected to solve the rest of them as a result, but at least the class could be put out of their misery.

The incident in Chemistry stayed with Clark for the next two periods. There was something about it that nagged at Clark's need to help. It wasn't until he saw how uncomfortable Bruce was when any attention was put on him that things began to click in Clark's mind.

It reminded him of a few of the meteor freaks Chloe and he had fought, the ones that were twisted not just by their infection but by the way they had been brought up. The learned mannerisms. Bruce kept his head down, he kept quiet, he kept to the back, he kept from being seen. Either he was just socially awkward or he had taught himself that being seen equated to something bad happening.

He brought it up to Chloe when he stayed behind to write the lunch specials for the Torch. His friend hummed in her seat for a moment before she was hopping up, sitting next to Clark and wiping the whole lunch menu away in favour of something else. "I didn't want to bring it up since, you know, new kid, probably has a few secrets. But, when I went to write my article for the torch," insert pointed glare at Clark, "I did my usual background check on Bruce's background and look." On screen was Bruce's file. Age, past transcripts, and test scores. It was all there, Clark didn't see the problem. "It looks normal enough to me."

But Chloe did as she pulled up a few more sites. "Exactly, too normal." Lex's words were coming back to him again. "I was thinking about putting in a few pre Smallville photos. Just to maybe put off the cheer squad from molesting the poor guy right away, but when I looked for yearbook photos, nothing. The paperwork is here but the actual evidence is missing. It's weird. Right?"

Clark did think it was slightly weird but, "The guy doesn't like being called on by the teacher, I doubt he would like his picture took. For all we know he just opted out of picture day."

"That's what I thought," A few more clicks and then Clark was looking at online year books. "But again, I looked through the schools he went to and tried to match them up with the yearbooks but he doesn't appear. Not even once in mention. Everyone is mentioned in a year book Clark. It's like the guy just didn't go there."

"Okay, so what?" He was starting to develop a theory, not a very good one too. Still, he needed to try and keep Chloe out of it, which was better done by setting her off in a different direction. He just needed to know where she was pointing to begin with.

It turned out she thought he had just lied about his schools to get into Smallville. It wasn't unheard of for rich boys, especially when thinking about Lex, to fake transcripts to keep a low profile. She was sure with enough digging she would unearth Bruce's rich past, "I mean have you seen his clothes?" she said as she effectively kicked Clark out altogether to focus on her search.

Clark didn't know about rich past, but dangerous… Still, he would give Bruce the benefit of the doubt. If only because he really did ignite Clark's sympathetic nature.

Bruce was an enigma wrapped up in a puzzle. Just when Clark thought he had him figured out he would throw him for a loop. This loop being that Chloe's theory about him being rich was about to go down the drain. Bruce's third day at Smallville high not only put him out of the running for potential boyfriend material for the cheer squad- they liked their boys to have some money after all- it made Clark's good nature rear its head.

Nice shirts were all well and good, but when someone wore the same thing twice in a week either their washer had broken or they didn't have that many options. Bruce had his thick wool jumper on, not looking fazed in the least by the stares or boiling hot sun that had to be heating him up in there. Chloe was all over it, her lack of tact meaning she asked Bruce outright what the deal was with the jumper.

"We haven't unpacked yet," was a good excuse. Enough to send Chloe in the direction of the computers, most likely to look up just exactly where in Smallville Bruce was staying.

Packed or unpacked, Clark spent most of the morning wondering how to form his question without sounding too patronising. Eventually he decided it would sound patronising no matter what he phrased it as so he just went for it, telling Bruce, "I have old shirts if you need something new to wear. They might be a little big."

"That would be helpful," Bruce agreed, Clark promising he wasn't going to murder him if Bruce came back to the farm after school.

Chloe ended up catching him at lunch, pulling him away from an intellectually interesting conversation with Bruce about something nerdy. Pete had sent him a 'help me' look as he was left alone with Bruce, the two of them never really being left alone with each other until now. Clark figured Pete would find a way through it, he was friendly enough after all.

The news that definitely couldn't wait for another time was that Chloe had indeed done some digging after she'd left them that morning. She presented Clark with an address, and news that the house did indeed exist but it was so decrepit that there was no way anyone could live there.

"They could be fixing it up," Clark reasoned, knowing people did that all the time with farms. They bought a piece of land in the hopes they could transform and sell it on.

"They could," Chloe agreed, not looking at all convinced.

Bruce wasn't as opposed to the walk to the farm as Clark thought he would be. He seemed to relax in the open air, despite the heat boring down on them. He followed Clark like a happy duckling, telling some lavish tale about a show he used to watch as a kid. "-It was kind of like Sherlock Holmes. I mean, the plot was far-fetched and I know the props were lame. But there's just something magical about old shows, you know. And as a kid you don't really notice those things."

"It sounds good," Clark said, already promising to look it up when he got home. If it was interesting enough to have Bruce as animated as he was then Clark didn't doubt it would be a good watch. "I was more into cartoons really. But my friend Lex, he used to like this comic about Warrior Angel. I've never read it but he swears it's good."

"I've read it," Bruce said, skipping in front of Clark, he got the feeling he was being sussed out. He got that feeling more than he liked when he was with Bruce. "Your friend's name is Lex? Like Luthor?"

"Yeah," he immediately went on the defence, knowing more likely than not that this guy had a bad view on all things Luthor like most of the world. "He's a nice guy. Nothing like his father. And if he was, he's changed."

"I believe you," Bruce said simply, letting Clark take the lead again.

The rest of the way to the farm was spent with Clark asking about Warrior Angel. He may have been hoping Bruce could tell him enough that he could freak Lex out next time he saw him. Mostly he was trying to gauge why Bruce had appeared so interested one moment and not at all in the next. He added it to the growing theory about Bruce and oh my God he was turning into Lex. Huh. He could kind of see the fascination now.

When they finally got home there was only one thing Clark could describe his experience that afternoon and that was enamoured. His parents were enamoured by Bruce, and Clark didn't blame them. Bruce had racked up the charm, pulling out all the smiles and dimples he could. Ma had taken two minutes to hear about Bruce's dilemma with his shirts and raced up to the attic to find Clark's old clothes. Where nice jumpers would have gotten Lex Luthor a short glare and a jibe about how many people's livelihoods had been destroyed to pay for it, Jonathan took one look at Bruce and started on about the heat in Smallville. No glare. No second glances. It was like he was meeting the son he never thought he'd had. Clark was half sure he had travelled to another dimension. Especially when his Ma pushed two bowls of ice cream in front of them, before dinner. She never did that.

"Why don't you try this one on sweetheart. You must be boiling in that thing," she fussed, sizing up one of Clark's white shirts he'd last seen when he was fourteen and thought she'd thrown out against Bruce's chest.

The shirt fit, Bruce being slim enough to fit into Clark's too small shirt and still look like it was too big for him. Clark blamed it on the fact he always got two sizes above his own, figuring he might have another growth spurt before he finished puberty. Ma sent him off again with another few shirts, having him put on a little fashion show that Bruce was happy to comply with even as Clark told him he didn't have to.

"Your mother's nice," Bruce shrugged, like he was asked daily to model for someone's mother.

On the fourth shirt Martha had Bruce change into Clark noticed a thin scar running along one of his wrists. It wasn't noticeable with the long sleeves which, most of the shirts Martha gave him had. The flannel he had on now however, were short sleeves, letting Clark see all that marred pale skin on display.

It wasn't like it was an accident either. Clark had seen car victims and burn victims at the hospital. Growing up on a farm he'd seen his fair share of how scars were made. The ones on Bruce's arms varied in dates, some of them looking fresher than others, and all of them done in different ways. He could see blade wounds clawing at Bruce's forearms. A burn on his wrist. Using his x-ray vision Clark saw how they didn't just stop on his arms, they continued all over his body, even on his ass when Clark's curiosity got the better of him. So self-mutilation was out.

He felt bad for looking when Bruce covered his arms from view. He was uncomfortable, that much was known from his posture, and thankfully Clark's parents had the decency not to mention them as Martha tutted over how much feeding she was going to have to do.

"You don't even feed me that much Ma," Clark protested when she put another bowl in front of Bruce. "I'm starting to feel like the unwanted child."

"Fifteen years and he thinks he's unwanted," Martha tutted, Jonathan laughing as he nabbed Clark's second bowl.

"Fifteen?" Bruce asked.

Clark shuffled in his seat, the subject always hard when it came up. "I'm adopted."

"Oh," Bruce nodded. "Well lucky you to have landed parents like these."

Just like that Bruce was Martha's favourite visitor. If it hadn't been for the fact Bruce had to go home Clark was sure she would have kept him. She did make sure that Bruce took home half an apple pie and most of Clark's old shirts when he did go.

"Nice boy," She kept saying the rest of the night, telling Clark she would make him some muffins to give to Bruce at school.

"Ma!" Clark had to say when leapt from muffins to a full meal.

He got a whack with a dish towel, Martha turning to Jonathan for support, "I'm just being nice. Besides, a boy who's got scars like that… makes you think about his home life. What did he tell you about himself again Clark?"

He repeated the same story of Central City and a father that had gotten a job in Smallville, leaving out the other little tid bits that had arisen in the past two days.

It was only when he was lone, fingering the arrow that had hit him just three nights ago that he allowed himself to wonder. It was quite a coincidence that Bruce had just turned up in Smallville as the assassin left him alone. His paperwork was all there, but his alias wasn't airtight. Either Bruce, if Clark was right, was a sloppy assassin, or he wasn't planning on sticking around long enough for his alias to be truly tested. Or, Clark thought, it was made like that on purpose. Maybe Bruce was testing Clark, leaving him clues to follow and pick apart. That didn't explain the assassination attempts, but it did explain the alias if he wanted Clark to figure out it was him that had tried to kill him. It would explain the scars. He didn't doubt assassin school was rough, and blending into the background was a must for a trained killer. Everything added up. Almost too well.

He didn't know.

Bruce didn't show any sign of hostility to Clark the next day. All shy smiles and keen intellect he had chosen one of Clark's shirts to turn up in, which put him even further down on the cheer squad's radar. His scars were hidden again, save the ones on his hands Clark had just noticed. It scared him, looking at Bruce through class. He didn't look any older than Clark, and unless he was one of those people who just aged well Clark didn't think he was that old either. Which meant he had probably been raised an assassin. He couldn't even begin to wonder what that was like, all he did know was that it meant not asking questions, Bruce keeping his head as far down as he could.

Chloe had him in the press room all of lunch, Pete coming in half an hour into the break to give the pair of them the most trying look he could. Bruce followed after him like a lost puppy, still talking the merits of football as Pete told Clark to take him. The reason for why being that Bruce had indeed caught up with football in the couple of days he had been here, but unlike most guys who talked about it like statistics and stuff, Bruce had decided the more fascinating aspects of the game were the many ways the footballers could improve their match if they made modifications in their stances. A long biology lecture later, which Clark actually found completely fascinating and it was time for Gym.

"Is there something wrong with physical education?" Bruce asked as Pete moaned his way to the gym.

"Except from the running around, the humiliation of shirts and skins and being picked last, no, there's not," Pete said.

"We have to take our shirts off?" Trust Bruce to latch onto that.

"You probably won't," Pete muttered, he too having caught the looks some of the guys had given Bruce on his first day here. He wasn't skinny, no matter what Ma said, but he wasn't bulked out either. The jocks could probably sense another one of them waiting inside Bruce.

About the time they were changing Bruce stole off from the locker room. Clark didn't see him again until he actually got to the gym, Bruce sitting in the corner with no shorts or yellow gym shirt to speak of.

"How'd you get out of it?" Pete asked as soon as he saw the same thing.

Bruce shrugged, "I said I didn't have the sufficient equipment. The teacher said I could sit this one out. Apparently, it's something of a chore to help a student sift through the lost and found pile."

It was, Clark had been there himself. Apart from it smelling to high heaven, it was two deep boxes full of mismatched shorts, shoes and shirts. Finding a complete outfit that actually fit Bruce would have taken longer than actual gym.

Still, it was a bit too convenient that Bruce was having to sit it out, usually their teacher made them do it regardless if they had the right clothes. Clark remembered one pleasant time he'd forgotten his own shorts and had to do track in jeans, he was just thankful he didn't sweat like normal kids else his jeans would have been two shades darker than when he put them on.

Chances were Bruce had said something else then. That didn't mean it had to be a bad thing. Clark had seen the scars, he was sure any kid would be determined to hide them, and it wasn't like their teachers were real monsters, they understood some circumstances needed a more tender hand.

Clark put it to the back of his mind, the rope standing in the middle of the room taking his full attention for the time being.

When the final bell rang Clark gave Bruce the open invitation his mother had told him this morning. "I swear, I haven't seen her like this before. You don't have some kind of mind control device, do you?" Bruce laughed, following Clark on the path to the Kent farm. "It doesn't really matter if you do. My parents love you and, actually I'm hoping to take advantage of that. Don't worry, you'll get something out of it too," He promised, knowing the muffins he was supposed to bring today were waiting for Bruce at home. "But Lex is coming over tonight and I figure my dad might be a bit more amendable if you show your face too. You'll love Lex. I think you two could be good friends." What with all the talk of Warrior Angel and Bruce's vast knowledge they were a match made in heaven.

Yet, at the mention of Lex coming over Bruce slowed his walk. "Actually, I don't think I can come over. My father, I'm supposed to make dinner tonight. I promised."

It was an excuse, and not a very good one. Clark let him go anyway, figuring, as he got home to see Lex's car, that it was probably for the best. This way he could fill Lex in on Bruce's existence at least, and with his contacts he could probably drag up way more than Chloe with her Torch computer.

"You say his name is Bruce?" Lex asked, already making notes. "Are you sure that's his name? He could be giving you a false one."

Clark shrugged, "If it is he's extremely in character." He'd been keeping an eye on Bruce ever since the suspicions rose. The way he acted, the way he responded. There didn't seem to be a lapse or even a second where he didn't respond to the sound of his name, and Clark had very good eyes, he would have been able to spot it. "His last name though, I don't know, it sounds a bit foreign for someone growing up in Central."

"Al Ghul," Lex pondered. "I think I've heard of that before. You're gonna have to give me a while to see where though. What else?"

Clark gave the information as it came. Bruce's high intellect, his scars, his interest in Warrior Angel and the Grey Ghost, both of which had Lex grinning. "Sounds like an interesting guy."

"He is."

A short shove that Jonathan cast a dirty look at and Lex was hissing, "Careful Clark, you're starting to sound like you like him."

"I do," Clark said, before Lex's double meaning caught up with him. "No, not like that. He's just a friend."

"Your blush says otherwise. Come on, it's nice seeing you swoon over someone else for a change."

Apart from teasing Clark about his red cheeks Lex did have other news to share. The autopsy on the cook had come back, the poison used a mixture of rat and toilet cleaners. Things that were in Lex's home. Nothing exotic or out of the ordinary. "Which is odd for a trained killer. They usually have a common trait. Something to mark their kills out from others so only they can claim the bounty."

Thinking back to the other ways this guy had tried to off him he remembered the arrow that had come from a store in town, as well as the bullets. There could have been something on the bullets, but Clark doubted it. "So, what does that tell us?"

"It tells us a great many things," Lex started, pulling out a few files from the briefcase he'd brought with him. One of them had a list of organisations on it, none of them Clark had heard of, but all of them giving Clark a shock at how many there were. "One, that the guy is probably part of an organisation instead of a lone killer. Organisations usually try to stay low, so they train their killers not to draw attention. The bounty ends up going to the top rather than the individual, and since there's more than one killer in their organisation that means they can take their time with a kill. For all we know it might not be Bruce, the killer could have been in Smallville for weeks before making an attempt." Another file was being pulled out, this one with bank statements and pictures of people that looked like they used money as napkins. "Now, if there's one thing bounty hunters and organisations have in common it's high prices. These are all the people I know who could have afforded to hire someone out. I still don't understand why they're coming after you." Apparently, there was only two people on that list who would have a grudge against Lex. One of which was currently dying in his homeland and the other too focused on his career right now to be much of a bother. All in all, Lex was confused. So was Clark.

After making sure nothing else had happened since the last time they'd seen each other, no other assassination attempts, Lex was herded out the Kent farm on pain of Jonathan's disapproving glare. They made plans for the weekend, Lex telling Clark to persuade Bruce over as well, he was more than interested in meeting him now, assassin or not.

With no Bruce at the Kent farm that evening Clark was forced the next morning to hand deliver the muffins, as well as half of an apple pie to him the next day. Half because Clark got hungry and thought a full apple pie might have been a bit much. Bruce looked lost when Clark gave them over, holding both boxes like they were bombs. Thankfully Pete seemed to have lost his apprehension around Bruce as soon as he caught a whiff of Martha Kent's cooking and gladly offered his stomach as a storage area.

"Ma wants to know if you're coming around at the weekend." Well, she didn't exactly phrase it as a question. More she told Clark to bring Bruce around so she could fatten him up or she would be cutting off Clark's desert privileges. Clark liked his deserts. "You can say no, but be warned you need a good excuse."

"I guess."

Things went Smallville normal for the rest of the morning, Clark beginning to enjoy the new tag along that was Bruce at his side. They made a game in Chemistry, when Chloe made a comment about how utterly nonsense the subject was, to speak in science talk around her the rest of the morning. She got so fed up of scientific terms she started zoning out in the middle of conversations, not even bothering to pretend she was listening anymore.

At lunch, Clark may have been hovering more than usual as Bruce picked at the half-eaten pie in front of him. At least until Chloe herded him away again to the computer room.

"But-" he protested, sure Bruce might have offered him some if he hung around a bit longer.

"This is important," Chloe countered, sitting him in front of the computer and, almost exactly like before, pulled up Bruce's file. "Okay, so I was doing a bit more digging on Bruce's school records when, look." Clark did, and started to actually believe what his mind had been telling him. In front of him were the year books that had no mention of Bruce. Or they did. Now, when Chloe flicked through them there was Bruce's photo cropping up again and again. Age thirteen, puberty just beginning to take hold, age fourteen, his hair a bit dishevelled but it was definitely Bruce grinning at the camera. Fifteen and sixteen were there as well. Group photos of gymnastic and dance clubs had Bruce in the middle of them. He even had a myspace page.

"This is spooky."

"This is brilliant," Chloe corrected, her whole body singing with the challenge of something weird to uncover. "There must have been a glitch before. Hopefully now we can find a bit more on our rich boy. I'm thinking riches to rags, kind of a reverse Cinderella which is why Bruce is slumming it in Smallville instead of Central."

Clark gave her a slight glare for that. There was nothing wrong with Smallville. Yet he was glad she was still on the rich boy trail, it meant she was out of harms way- for now. Clark on the other hand was more convinced than ever Bruce was the assassin. Something between now and the last time they had checked had changed enough for Bruce to deepen his cover. He must be sticking around for longer than he thought. The why, well, Clark wasn't dead so the why was covered.

He didn't know whether to feel betrayed or not when they met up with Bruce for French class. On the one hand, he felt a connection with Bruce, one he hoped he could strengthen if he was proved wrong with his hunch. On the other, he had only met Bruce a few days ago. Connection or not, Bruce was a stranger, someone trying to kill him, and if it really was just for show, well, it wasn't like he was saying goodbye to a childhood friend.

"That accent is horrendous," Bruce murmured to him. Clark stifled a laugh as their teacher went on about French verbs. He had a point, it was a well known secret in Smallville that their teacher was as American as they came. She only put on the accent to give a sense of mystery to their lessons. "Does she know she's getting it wrong? Is that the point of this exercise?"

Clark looked at the board, wondering just how Bruce's mind could catalogue mistakes that fast. She hadn't even finished writing after all. "It's wrong?" Bruce looked like he thought Clark was joking, before he realised Clark wasn't and muttered a never mind under his breath. Clark raised his hand anyway just to help Bruce out, asking for a few French pointers afterwards if Bruce was such a genius.

Turned out he was fluent, something Clark took full advantage of as he tested out his own French. It turned out a lot of mistakes had been made in Clark's French education, Bruce giving him a quick crash course that ended in the pair of them speaking minimalistic French by the end.

"You know," Clark said as they went to their last class of the day, "You don't talk like other kids our age. I've just noticed it."

"I don't?"

"No," He made sure Chloe was out of sight before continuing. She didn't need more excuses to look Bruce up. "It's like you've never been around kids your own age before." He had an odd accent. Definitely not Central City anyway. It was stilted, posh almost and rather reminiscent of Lex's. But there was something in it, a lilt to his vowels and a harshness to some of the words he said that was distinctly foreign. Fluent in French indeed.

"Maybe I just didn't like the way they spoke," Bruce said which, Clark supposed, was an okay excuse. Or would have been had Clark not already had his suspicions about him. Now, it was added to the list of reasons why Bruce was trying to kill him. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to better oneself."

"True. But that doesn't explain why you don't curse. I've heard a lot of well to do men swear before." Lex on several occasions when he'd seen his dad pull up to the manor came to mind. "Even when you burnt your hand in home ec. You didn't do so much as blink."

"Cursing belittles both the speaker and the recipient. I can think of far more creative things to say than one simple word that is nothing more than an Anglo-Saxon verb."

Clark had to laugh at that. Only Bruce could say something like that with a straight face and get away with sounding completely normal whilst doing it.

Friday came sooner than Clark wanted it to. He kept a close eye on Bruce the whole time, itching for the weekend to come so he could introduce Bruce to Lex. If anyone could sniff out Bruce's ulterior motives it was him. The whole few days it took Bruce kept surprising him with how easy he was to get along with. Clark was just going with it now, figuring if Bruce was an assassin then the least he could do was indulge Clark with talk on hypothetical dimensions the week he was undercover.

He also could hand over cupcakes that Clark's mother had made without being asked. Clark was telepathically trying to convey that message now, hoping it was part of his powers as Bruce picked at one baby blue frosted cupcake.

"Okay that's it," Chloe said, pulling Clark from his cupcake thievery. "It's been a week Clark, are you feeling okay?"

"What's been a week?"

A pointed nod to a table across the hall where one Lana Lang sat. "I haven't heard you mention her once Clark. Now either you're sick, or- well, I can't think of anything else."

Now that he thought about it Lana hadn't been on his mind the whole week. Too engrossed with the mystery of Bruce Al Ghul he hadn't wondered about at all. He was starting to grow worried himself, even when he was hunting down meteor freaks he had time for Lana.

"I guess I just had other stuff on my mind."

"She's pretty," Bruce complimented, Clark's blood going cold as he wondered whether it was a bad thing or not that Lana had been mentioned. "What's her name?"

"Lana Lang," And Chloe was plenty happy to fill Bruce in on Clark's little romantic crush. "Of course, Clark has honour the size of Russia so he hasn't done anything about it. Too afraid of hurting her feelings."

Fighting back the flush that was threatening to turn him completely red Clark changed the subject to Bruce, "You have anyone you're interested in? Maybe from back home?"

"There is a woman," Bruce said, with nothing more forthcoming. No matter how hard Chloe pressed Bruce wouldn't give up anything more.

Clark worried the whole night whether something would happen to Lana because Chloe had blabbed about her. He even staked out her home, just in case. But nothing happened. Saturday came with Lana waking up bright, early and very much alive while Clark had to make a quick getaway or be named a creep. Not that he hadn't already transgressed that line in his life.

He made it back home just in time to see his mother serving up pancakes and half of the kitchen to Bruce. "You're early," Clark greeted, nabbing himself a nice plateful.

"You didn't specify a time."

Early meant Bruce was around for Jonathan to start complaining about the tractor again. The complaint had Bruce offering his services, another surprising skill he had. By the time noon came he was covered in oil and showing Clark and Jonathan a tractor that was practically purring instead of the gurgled death cough it had been spewing before.

"You're making me look bad," Clark said as he showed Bruce the bathroom. "Seriously, you're one good deed away from becoming an honorary Kent. I'm pretty sure Ma's measuring my room for another bed." He was joking, but he had seen her in there earlier with a tape measure so, maybe he should keep an eye on her.

"She's a nice woman."

Lex turned up around the time the water stopped in Clark's bathroom. Thankfully Jonathan was singing his tunes on his newly repaired tractor so Lex was able to pass the Kent door without complaint. Grabbing some leftover food, that Clark was seriously going to have to talk to his mother about, he found Clark sifting through other old shirts his mother had found for Bruce to try on.

Lex folded a few himself, laughing when he heard the welcome wagon Bruce was given. "It's good to see it's just me your parents have a problem with. So where is this Bruce anyway?"

"Bathroom. In fact-" Actually, now that Clark listened he couldn't hear anything at all. No shuffling or the squeak the towel rack made. "Ma! Where's Bruce?"

"He went home," came up.

Sure enough, when Clark looked out the window he could see Bruce walking away from the farm. Okay, it was odd when Bruce blew him off the first time. The second time, with Lex turning up without Bruce knowing, yep, it was definite that Bruce was avoiding Lex.

"He's the assassin," Clark said, knowing it was true now. Why else would they avoid Lex if they weren't trying to keep a low profile.

"I know," Lex said, pulling out a file. "I did some digging on the Al Ghul name. There isn't a Bruce, but the family name is well known in the underworld. They're called the League of Shadows."

An assassins guilt headed by a man called Ra's Al Ghul. Lex didn't have a photo, there were no photos of Ra's. The League were old. Alexander the Great old. Not to mention notorious, not only for single assassinations but for widespread. They had decimated whole cities before, plotted behind worldwide tragedies. They had spies everywhere, and merely the mention of them had most people, no matter who they were, ducking for cover. The worst part was that they weren't for hire.

"So, no one put a hit on me," Clark concluded. That meant they were coming after him for a different reason.

"Afraid not." Lex looked like he was signing Clark's death warrant as he explained a bit more about the league. How they were right about them keeping a low profile. Unless it was one of the family, Ra's or his daughters, making the hit, they liked to keep their deaths regional. Meaning that Clark would be better off fearing death by band saw than another sniper incident. "If this guy is really out to get you Clark you have to be careful. I'll talk to my staff, see if we can get some kind of protection set up. I don't know why he's waiting this long, you must have something he needs, but sooner or later he's going to try again."

"Well what do we do?"

There wasn't much they could do. They could inform the authorities but Lex said there might be people inside the precinct on their side. They could offer Clark all the protection in the world, but somehow, they would find a way to get to him. "You're just gonna have to hope that Kent luck holds out. Now are you sure it's Bruce, because I have to give a face to my staff."

Yes, Clark wanted to say, but something held him back. Something had him saying "No," instead and telling Lex he would have to make sure before he had an answer.

However, Clark was sure. Despite spending the rest of the day going over potential people, again, he was surer than ever it was Bruce now. Yet he didn't think Bruce wanted to kill him. Not anymore. Something had changed, it was why his cover had gotten deeper.

That still didn't explain why Bruce had let himself be spotted so easily. He was almost announcing it to Clark at this point. The why, well, he was just going to have to ask that himself. Thank God he was bulletproof.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't see Bruce again until Monday morning. Despite wanting this mystery solved as soon as possible that was easier said than done. Clark went looking for Bruce on Sunday, finding the house registered to Bruce and his 'father' just as decrepit as it was the last time Clark had seen it. There were no marks of renovation or even a hint that someone had moved in. The most Clark found was a box of baby blue cupcakes his mother had made for Bruce on Friday.

Monday Clark had to exercise a lot of willpower not just take Bruce from class and interrogate him. He lasted until lunch anyway. But only because his mother had made Bruce another box of cupcakes and he was adamant if he was going to share them with a murderer.

He dragged Bruce far enough away from the school they wouldn't be heard, using his speed and strength, since that was probably why Bruce was here in the first place, to hold him still when they got to the woods.

"Okay, no more acting, why are you trying to kill me?"

Bruce had the decency not to deny it, in the second between Clark setting him down and questioning him he had straightened from his teen slouch into something Lionel would be proud of. He looked like a prince looking down at his subject, straight backed and hard eyes, all innocence gone and replaced with all the fierce intelligence he'd only hinted at this past week.

"It is my duty."

Bruce got a short shove for that, Clark putting some of his strength in to show he wasn't the only one with the power here. "Try again."

"Oh, you mean why are we targeting you," Bruce corrected. "Well, your existence isn't as secret as you believe."

"Explain."

Bruce did in that stilting formal way of his. It turned out it was actually Lionel's fault that Clark was being targeted. Lex's time in Smallville had warranted more than one assassin coming to call on him. When rumour started spreading of someone protecting the Luthor heir, the league became intrigued. Who was it that could successfully scare off trained hit men, people who dedicated their lives to being afraid of nothing? They accepted they may die on a regular basis yet Clark Kent had managed to persuade them to give up on this one job.

"I volunteered myself when the opportunity arose." Like that was something to be proud of. "You seemed like quite the challenge. Remain quite the challenge."

He let that sink in for a moment, before his earlier problem reared its head. "Okay, this is too easy. Why are you telling me all this?"

Bruce shrugged, the gesture still looking elegant somehow compared the other ones he'd seen earlier in the week. "I have my reasons." Clark made a grab for him, Bruce avoiding easily. "However, I may be amendable to telling you more about said reasons if you agree to keep your hands to yourself. I've seen you do your chores, don't think I don't know what those hands are capable of."

"Just how long have you been following me?" Long, Clark guessed, despite Bruce not saying so. To think, Clark hadn't noticed until a bullet hit him in the side of his head that someone had been hovering around him. It was frightening, this man was frightening. "Talk."

"I want out."

Okay, Clark wasn't expecting that. "Out?"

"To leave. I want to go back home."

"So, go." It was kind of weird to think of assassins having homes. Bruce, the guy before he knew for sure was an assassin, sure. But this guy in front of him, it was just weird to think before assassin school he was probably someone's kid.

"If it were that simple don't you think I would have done so already?" He didn't wait for Clark to respond, speaking again like if he didn't he would never say it. "No, I need to get out and I need help doing so. I thought, if I came here, perhaps you might help. It was merely a hope before, a way to pass time while finding other routes. But not anymore. You can help."

"Did you mean for me to find out?"

Bruce nodded. "Your books show you have a high intellect. I knew if I planted enough clues you would eventually confront me."

"I could have killed you," Clark threatened, not liking how much Bruce had manipulated him over the past week.

"You wouldn't. You have a high honour code and a want to help people. I knew before I fired that first shot you wouldn't kill me."

He decided to change tact, this was just getting him more unnerved, and right now Bruce was asking for help. He concentrated on that as he pushed the other questions of Bruce's stalking out of his head. "What can I do? In case you didn't know during your little stakeout but I'm trying to keep a low profile. And since I'm not a killer, that's off the cards too."

Bruce shook his head, "No killing," he agreed. "I merely need your help in getting a valuable asset. Once I have it, I can leave."

The laugh came from nowhere, Clark not believing he had gotten himself into this situation again. Of course, Bruce would be blackmailing him, that was all people seemed to do when they learned about his powers. First that dodgy cop from Metropolis, now this. When would he learn? "And if I refuse?" Clark had to ask.

"Then we both die," Bruce said, utter seriousness on his face. "Do you not think I have not learnt everything there is to know about you. Your skin may be invulnerable, but that is not always true. If I can find it out, do you not think others will too. The call has been made, you are lucky I was the one who answered. If you help I can ensure the League does not come after you. If you do not _we both die_."

He spent a while thinking, Bruce keeping quiet in front of him while he did so. This was insane. Definitely one of the more dangerous situations he'd gotten himself into. His parents would be furious when they found out, and who was to say Bruce would keep his word even if Clark did decide to help.

Yet, there was something sincere about Bruce. Something that told him he was telling the truth in everything he had said. He really sounded like he wanted out, and if this was his only way. "Okay, fine, I'll help. But on two conditions. The first, you be honest with me. You lie to me, even once and I'll gladly take my chances with the League. Two, you don't hurt anyone in Smallville. No one."

"That seems like a suitable agreement."

They shook on it. "Okay so where is this asset?"

"Nanda Parbat."

Clark hadn't a clue where that was. Luckily Bruce did. They spent the rest of the afternoon in that wood, Clark keeping a good distance away, while they plotted what exactly they had to do. They would need to be gone for a good week, Bruce said, the trek there long and arduous. However, Bruce knew it like a second home, and could get them inside without any trouble. After that, it would be up to Clark to hold off the assassins long enough for Bruce to get his item and get out. Said item Bruce wouldn't tell him.

"You said honesty not that I couldn't withhold information," Bruce pointed out when Clark complained, which, true. However there was one mystery that Clark solved that afternoon, the answer to why he was avoiding Lex. "He knows me from my previous life. I could not risk exposure. Not unless I have this problem sorted out."

"Know in a good way or a bad way?"

Bruce didn't answer that either, Clark starting to wish he had said answer all questions no matter what. It was too late for that now however.

By the time it had gotten dark Bruce was edging the two of them out of the woods and towards the Kent farm. Now all traces of his façade were gone he didn't pretend he hadn't a clue where it was, striding purposefully across road after road until a little yellow farmhouse appeared.

"My mom's going to kill me," Clark confessed, trying to lighten the mood between them.

"Then don't tell her. Just get a change of clothes and let's go."

"I'm going to be gone for a week," Clark protested.

"And she'll be worrying for a week. Don't tell her. It's better to ask forgiveness."

He waited outside while Clark packed a bag. He considered, when he heard his parent's downstairs, talking about the farm's mortgage like any other day, just telling them something before he went. They were seriously going to kill him when he got back. But, he supposed in a way Bruce was right. If he told them he was going to be barging head first into a den of assassins rather than leaving and letting them assume it was something alien related they were going to be worrying far much more. So, he used his speed to fetch a few snacks for the road and joined up with Bruce who had gotten a backpack from somewhere.

"Provisions," Bruce said, starting off as soon as Clark came into focus.

The airport was a long trek, longer because they had to go at Bruce's speed since he refused to let Clark carry him there. Bruce had a passport and money enough to get them to Metropolis, and a connecting flight to somewhere he wouldn't tell Clark about.

The wait for the flight was an hour long, Clark jittery the whole time in case someone recognised him and asked what the hell he was doing. About half an hour in and Bruce slapped Clark's thigh loud enough for some people to look up. "Stop it, you're attracting attention."

"I'm skipping town, I'm nervous."

"Well don't be."

Bruce kept his hand on Clark's thigh the rest of the half hour, the grip like iron, burning through the thin layer. Clark found it easier to relax when he focused on the muscles he could feel in Bruce's hand, counting the bones as they pressed and relaxed every now and then.

Finally, they were called to board, Bruce shoving him towards the window seat, hissing that he was well hidden there so he could stop looking like someone was going to shoot him.

It was as the plane was getting ready to take off that Clark remembered he had a fear of heights. Flying included in there. The hand rest did not survive the runway, Bruce giving him murderous looks the longer he crunched the metal beneath his grip.

"You had better hope they don't notice that when we get off because I am not paying for it," Bruce hissed.

Clark choked out a laugh, focusing on Bruce's words instead of the fact he was hundreds of feet up in the air with nothing below him to catch them should they fall. "You could always kill whoever finds it. You are an assassin after all."

Bruce huffed, actually pouting in his seat as he pried Clark's hand off the hand rest and held it in his own. It helped again to have something he definitely couldn't grip too hard in his hand, that concentration distracting him from all the movies that came to mind where a plane crashed.

"I've never actually killed anyone." The confession was so quiet Clark wasn't sure he even heard it.

"You're an assassin," Clark said, which, yeah, said everything.

"I've trained to be one. You were to be my first kill. My final test so to speak."

"Seriously?" The words Bruce said came to mind, that he had known before firing the first bullet that Clark wouldn't be harmed. He had never been trying to kill him. "What about the cook?"

"That wasn't me. Although it did help with some questions I had about your inner makeup." As if to enforce those words again Bruce said, "I promised honesty."

Bruce fell silent. Clark, beginning to feel the beginnings of panic again fished for something, anything else he could ask Bruce. "Is your name even Bruce?" he decided on.

"Yes."

"Al Ghul?" Son of Ra's the worst assassin to ever walk the streets according to Lex.

"No. However, it is part of my family name now."

"That makes no sense." And the confusion stopped him from thinking about his parents who would be told should he die from this plane journey that Clark had taken off in the middle of the night not on alien business. Unfortunately, Bruce wasn't forthcoming with anymore answers on that front. "Are you even interested in science?"

Another "Yes."

It was enough. Clark spared one last thought to how planes actually flew before rambling on about what other him might be like in a parallel world.

Bruce was in a foul mood when they landed, mostly because he probably realised that they had another plane journey ahead of them. He ditched Clark at the terminal, coming back after a while with hamburgers and an estimated time for their next take off.

"I'm not hungry," His stomach was two harsh breaths away from spewing over the seats actually.

Bruce pressed it in his hands anyway. "You won't see one for a while," he argued, not taking it back until Clark had stomached at least one mouthful.

The next flight wasn't as bad as the first. Clark knew what to expect, and Bruce had his hand waiting for him to grab as soon as the wheels started turning. The flight was fifteen hours long. Clark spent most of it distracting himself with different things he usually couldn't talk to his friends back home about. Like how interesting space was, not other life, just space. Or that he had looked up the first few Warrior Angel comics and found the idea of a little Lex reading through them. Bruce gave a grunt to that, the most he'd heard from him after the hamburger incident. Of course, around the time Clark started on about his chores at the farm Bruce fell asleep.

Clark didn't mind. It wasn't like he was a great conversationalist in the first place, and since there was an inflight movie to keep him occupied now his audience had gone his nerves didn't fully return.

Clark didn't know how, but Bruce slept the rest of the way to China. That's right, while Bruce was asleep Clark took a look at the tickets to see where they were going. He woke only as they landed, yawning and stretching as the seat belt sign turned off. He'd gotten rumpled through the flight, his hair sticking up where it had been forced up by the seat. Hands didn't make it any better, more like they gave him an even more ruffled look, and while part of Clark was arguing that this man was blackmailing him, the other part was agreeing it could see why the girls found him cute.

Nanda Parbat didn't exist, Clark found out. Not on any maps at least. However, as Bruce hailed them a few cabs and they walked village after village to the more rural areas he could hear whispers of it here and there. Mostly by men in suits, inquiring where they could find the League. Clark heard Bruce scoff a few times, the man fluent in this language too.

When the cabs and villages ran out Clark and Bruce had to go by foot. With his powers it was exhausting. They travelled through mountains. Mountains. The furthest Clark had ever seen to a mountain were the cliffs that overlooked some parts of Smallville. Bruce was a tireless bundle of determination. The nap on the plane was the only time Clark saw him sleep in the two days they walked nonstop over rocky ground. Clark didn't know how he did it.

Eventually he plucked up the courage from somewhere and begged for a stop. "Just for an hour, or seven. I need a rest, and so do you."

"I'll rest when we get out," Bruce snapped, dragging Clark in front of him.

"Look," he stopped Bruce with his strength, taking them to a small niche in the rocks that looked far too inviting in his state. "We're about to go up against trained killers. You're scared to go against them without me even at your peak, which you aren't right now. You need to rest, I need to rest, otherwise we don't stand a chance."

He thought Bruce was going to fight him on it, he certainly looked ready to. But he pulled himself from Clark's grip and sat himself like a child in a time out in the niche Clark had been eyeing. Not even questioning it, Clark sat, and napped, gloriously napped.

Bruce didn't let him rest for long. It barely felt like he had closed his eyes when Bruce was waking him and telling him to get moving. He didn't look like he had slept, but Clark could see the slight ruffle to his hair and the pull to his shirt that suggested a little lie down on the rocks.

Another mountain was climbed before they came to a rope bridge. It reminded Clark of those cartoons when he was a kid, the ones where there was a secret villain fortress waiting on the other side. He was starting to think those cartoons may have been based off this place. It even had mist hiding half of it from view.

"So we just walk in?" It couldn't be that simple.

Bruce looked him over, "You can jump pretty far, right?" Clark nodded starting to see what Bruce was getting at. "Think you could make that?"

"Just point me in the right direction."

They journeyed about a mile away from the bridge, Bruce, for the first time, actually letting Clark help him. Bruce argued a piggyback, but Clark was adamant he couldn't be sure Bruce would stay on during the jump. It took a quick argument before Bruce was pouting bridal style in his arms.

He took a run up, just in case, and made the jump easily, his feet skidding on the snow as he landed. Bruce jumped down as soon as they were on safe ground, taking off into the foggy snow and leaving Clark to follow or get lost.

He was expecting a mansion, or a cave in the shape of someone's head. Instead there was just another mountain. Bruce seemed to see things Clark didn't however as he climbed up the rocky slope to disappear into a hidden cave. Clark didn't bother climbing, jumping up to the right height he squeezed himself through the hole Bruce had found. It was tiny, looking like it had been made by a child. It held however as he made it to the other side, Bruce unzipping his backpack to take out one deadly looking sword.

"They will know you're here. You will have to stick close to me. No running off."

"Sure," Clark agreed, using his x-ray vision to see if there was anyone in the immediate vicinity. "We're all clear."

Bruce nodded, "So you can see through walls." It wasn't even a question. How Bruce had figured that power out was a pure mystery.

Still, Clark kept that question to himself as he acted as a lookout behind Bruce.

The mountain turned out to be hiding a series of caves. All of them tunnelling into one another and opening out into vast caverns. There was nothing at all in any of them. No furniture, no food, no people. It was as if they had remained untouched by man. Except for the stray bloodstains here and there. Bruce was leading them up, the caves surprisingly warmer the higher up they went.

The reason for why became clear as Bruce picked a lock on a metal door. A roaring fire was the first thing to greet Clark when they got in. Unlike the rest of this place, the room they had just entered looked like one of the rooms in Lex's manor. A long table stood in the middle, laden with ripe fruits and steaming meats. There was a bed laden with silks imbedded into the stone floor. Weapons hung off the walls like ornaments, knives and axes some of them still carrying blood on their steel.

Bruce didn't go for any of them. Instead, he ran to the back where another door hid disappearing for a few minutes before returning to the main room.

"There's someone coming," Clark warned, the skeleton taking their time up the slope to the room. These people really did think they had all the control. "Bruce."

Bruce wasn't listening, and if he was he didn't care. His back was turned to Clark, and when Clark tried to grab him to get out of there, to somewhere safe, he cast him off with a few well-placed moves.

Their guest was a woman. A beautiful woman, one who had Clark taking another look himself. She looked at least in her twenties, her hair sleek and face carefully pointed. She was like something out of fairy tale, save for the sword almost exactly like Bruce's in her hands.

"Beloved," She greeted, stepping past Clark like he didn't exist. "You are back."

"I am."

"You have brought a guest," She finally looked at Clark, nothing but curious indifference in her eyes. "Your first kill. Father will be displeased."

"You are displeased. Your father is understanding," Bruce countered, straightening back up.

"You are his heir Bruce. How is he supposed to look our followers in the eye if his heir will not kill?"

Bruce didn't answer, Clark getting the feeling he was missing something here. This woman wasn't trying to kill him or Bruce, despite the fact that Bruce had said they would if they were caught. "Bruce?" Clark tried.

He finally looked Clark in the eye, "Because I have brought him someone who is more powerful than we had anticipated. Clark has agreed to join alliances with the league. I think this is slightly better than murder don't you?"

"Wait! You didn't say anything-" A pointed look said more than his words ever could. He was asking Clark to trust him. To go along with this. Clark hoped to God that Bruce wasn't double crossing him, because if he was, well, Clark wouldn't kill him, but he sure as hell would make him rue the day they had crossed paths. "I mean, yes, I am. I'd rather be alive after all."

The woman smiled at him, a condescending one like one would give to a small child. A few hushed words in a language Clark didn't understand and suddenly the room was filled with men in black. Clark let his geekiness take over for a minute when he saw the ninja's, actual ninja's. They did no more than take Bruce's backpack from him, leading both him and Clark back through the tunnels under the woman, Talia's instruction.

"What's your plan?" Clark hissed when they were put into a room almost identical to the one they had been in.

"To play along. She will not harm me, and her father will be home soon. We will dine and you will agree to his terms. Once you do you will be given reign on the league. Free to roam where you please. When you do we will start searching again."

"You know, this would go a lot easier if you told me what you were looking for."

Bruce kept quiet again, Clark forcing himself not to get upset with them too much. He was the only one Clark could talk to after all.

Bruce was familiar with this bedroom, finding knives and other weapons hidden around under stones and in the walls. He replaced some of his own weapons with them, Clark getting more than an eyeful of how much Bruce was actually packing as he pulled out knife after knife.

Finally, when Clark thought he was going to try another conversation, one of the ninja came out of nowhere and disappeared again. Bruce said dinner was being served, an odd way to tell people but Clark followed nevertheless.

It was another bedroom they were led to, this one right in the depths of the mountain. There was a stream coming from somewhere, Bruce warding him away from it when he went to take a look. The table here was full of food too, Clark's mouth watering after the last meal he'd been served was a cooked lizard Bruce had found a good ten hours before.

Talia was waiting for them at the table, along with another woman, slightly older than her and a man at the head. Clark had the thought that if Bruce was a prince this man was a king. There was no other way to describe his regal air as he lounged, regarding Clark.

Bruce stopped before the table, bowing slightly as he said something in that language again. The man replied, Bruce taking the empty seat to his right. "This is the man," he finally said in English, his tone wholly unimpressed. Clark didn't blame him, the last he'd seen of his reflection he looked like a dishevelled farm boy.

"His name is Clark. I thought he would make a better ally than gravestone. We're always looking for new blood."

The man, who had to be Ra's, flicked his fingers to a seat next to his other daughter, Clark taking it gladly.

The dinner was interesting to say the least. The beginning was conducted in that language Clark couldn't understand, and quite frankly didn't want to since his stomach was taking precedence over his brain right then. When it had been slightly sated he tried to figure out what was going on.

Even without understanding them, Clark took the time to get the measure of this man, concluding that he was probably the most frightening person Clark had ever seen. There was just something about him, Clark didn't know how Bruce was so calm. In fact, he was calmer than he had been when it had been him and Talia. Clark even saw him smile once or twice. But one thing was sure, when he got back to Smallville, Clark was never going to be intimidated by Lionel again.

He was grabbing a few more slithers of meat when the call came up from Ra's that they were being rude to their guest, a welcoming smile his way, completely different from the unimpressed look, had Clark even more uncomfortable.

The first sentences that Clark understood were Talia reporting the training of someone called Damian. "He even killed his first man yesterday father," she gloated. Ra's didn't look too pleased with that for some reason, watching Bruce with a keen eye. Clark saw why when she said, "I wish you had been there beloved to share it with us."

"Me too." Bruce was hard to read throughout the whole dinner. When he was talking with Ra's he was like a son looking for approval. With Talia, there was a mask in place, a cool glaze to his eyes. It got stronger as he asked, "How is the baby?"

Talia lost her gloat, huffing "Fine," and leaving the subject at that.

Now Clark looked closer he could see a distinctive firmness to her stomach. He remembered what Bruce had said about there being a woman in his life. Seventeen and a baby on the way. Clark wondered if he was intending on taking Talia with him in his little escape.

It took another few talks about deaths and world destruction before they got to the part of the dinner Clark had been waiting for. Ra's started off by congratulating Clark on his previous victories against, he called them lesser beings. He said how pleased he was that Clark had agreed to ally himself with Ra's organisation, and that if Bruce put his faith in him then Ra's would too.

The terms were simple, "You work for me, you follow the rules like everyone else and I shall take the bounty off your head."

"Seems amendable," Clark agreed, Bruce nodding slightly to tell him that he'd done well.

A few more words were spoken, none that Clark understood, before Bruce was standing, indicating for Clark to do the same, and the two of them walked out.

He didn't breathe right until they got back to the room, "That was the most frightening thing I've ever experienced. And in the past few weeks I've had my fear threshold revaluated."

"It went well," Bruce said, hopping up onto the wooden dining table to sit and be silent for a few hours.

Time didn't seem to exist in this place. He didn't know if the sun was setting or rising as a knock came, Talia sauntering in and making a beeline for Bruce. The language was, again, unknown, but the invitation was clear in the way she moved. It was pure seduction, and in Clark's experience, when a woman gave someone the look Talia was giving Bruce, you didn't exactly turn it down.

Bruce seemed to have some iron control however, as he didn't do so much as blink back at her, her trailing fingers doing nothing but cause him to tell her, even from Clark's limited knowledge of their language, to find somewhere else to take herself. She left after Bruce turned away from a kiss, the slap she gave him echoing off the rooms walls and curse she called as she walked off sending chills to Clark never mind Bruce.

"Are you sure that was wise?" Clark asked.

"We must be vigilant in our mission," was all he got for another few hours.

Finally, after some unknown signal Bruce hopped down from his table and drew his sword. They employed the same technique they did before, Clark acting as lookout while Bruce led them through the halls. They came to the bedroom again, Bruce lingering outside, fingering the handle.

"Five minutes. Wait here five minutes then go in to the door at the back and get him."

"What?"

Bruce didn't bother explaining, edging through the small opening and disappearing from sight. Clark considered using his x-ray vision, make sure he was alright. But Bruce could take care of himself. He was apparently the heir of this place after all, which Clark was still wrapping his head around. So, he waited the appropriate five minutes before using his speed to zip inside the room.

The whole place had changed in the few hours they had been away. Instead of pristine floors there was the scattering of red, a metallic tang in the air. Clark looked for Bruce as he carefully eased the second door at the back open, finding him on the bed, shed of most of his clothes and lying with that glazed look in his eyes from dinner as Talia moved over him.

Not lingering when Bruce was providing the best distraction he could, Clark zipped into the room glad he was finally getting some answers. Almost wishing he hadn't when his foot broke a wooden horse as soon as he stepped in.

It was small, carved and painted like a child's toy. A few more were scattered beyond, leading to a bed at the back. Inside was a child, peeking above the silk covers with a glare Clark had come to know well over the past week. Only this one was on a smaller face.

Damn.

Clark didn't think. He didn't want to think about this until he was out of this place so he grabbed the boy and ran back to the corridor. The kid didn't make much noise, too startled at first to do more than squirm. When Clark was still however, well he should have really expected the fight the kid put up, he was in an assassins' guild after all.

Kicks, punches and even claws coming to his eyes came at him. Clark let it all happen, focusing more on keeping the kid quiet than preserving his skin. He just thanked God he was bullet proof, otherwise he would have been mauled by the time Bruce came out, looking like he'd just been beat up instead of having a round of sex with a beautiful girl.

The kid stopped squirming at least, small hands reaching for Bruce that the man gladly took. "We have to be quick," Bruce said, already starting off down the halls.

"So this was the asset?" Clark had to ask. "Your kid? Why didn't you just say so?"

"Shut up!" Bruce hissed, taking off running.

Clark didn't bother asking this time, there was a kid involved after all, and picked up Bruce to speed them back to the opening he remembered. Bruce went through first, the kid crawling along after him until all three of them were speeding, Clark backtracking the trek all the way to one of the first rural villages they had passed a few days before in a matter of hours.

The only reason they had to stop was because the kid was getting fussy, Bruce soothing him like any other parent would when they stopped. Together they found a shelter, one Bruce assured him the league wouldn't come looking for. It was a small bunker, used for storing food not humans. But Bruce and the kid didn't complain so Clark didn't either. Not until the questions became too much and Bruce just had to ask.

"This is your kid?"

"Damian." Damian, Clark had heard that name at dinner. Talia had been bragging about his first kill. The boy was tiny, probably two years old, yet somehow, he had killed someone. Bruce must have been thinking the same thing since he started murmuring things in different languages. Clark catching 'it wasn't your fault' mixed in there.

"You must have been young." Bruce was seventeen, this kid was two. Counting the nine months of carrying him Bruce would have been well below the age of consent for conception. "You know, if you just told me it was your kid, I would have helped you without all this hassle."

"No you wouldn't." Bruce stopped Damian from pulling his hair out, it was probably the only time he'd seen Bruce really react to some kind of pain. "I can see the way you're looking at me. What you're thinking. I'd rather have your suspicions than your pity."

"I don't-" But he did, and Clark couldn't really deny it. "But why? I mean, no offence, you're plenty handsome now but I doubt you were when you were what-? I don't even know."

"It was a last-ditch attempt for power."

Bruce's parents were shot when he was ten. He had been lying in their blood when someone passed by the alley. Ra's had been in town for business, a personal grievance he wished to take care of in person. He'd heard the gun, the scream, and found Bruce on his knees. "He said he was surprised with me. Most children would have been crying. He said he recognised a kindred spirit the moment he saw how clear my eyes were."

He'd taken Bruce back to Nanda Parbat with him, raised him like his own son. He taught him the ways of murder and torture, accepting after the first attempt that Bruce would not kill. Ra's had understood, had admired the moral code Bruce had in his soul. When Bruce was twelve, he named him his heir.

For years before that Talia and Nyssa had been vying for power. Ra's was old fashioned however, and only wanted a male heir. While they still fought over their father's seat Ra's had been fashioning his true heir in Bruce. When they learnt of it, Talia had hatched up a rather ingenious scheme, one that would get her what she wanted and make her father happy at the same time.

"We used to dine together sometimes. She was nice to me, I thought nothing of it. Then one morning I woke and I didn't remember the evening before. I have an eidetic memory, you can see how perturbed I was by this."

She had drugged him, used him and three weeks later told him she was pregnant with Damian. When Bruce had asked if she was sure it was his she had said he insulted her honour and, well, Bruce wouldn't say, but the scars on Bruce's body spoke more for him then than words did.

Bruce had been content with being a father, after a while, however Talia wasn't content with just being the mother to his child, she wanted the position that came with being Bruce's paramour. The problem with having a child was that Bruce had a weakness he didn't have before. One Talia took full advantage of.

Clark was sickened by some of the things he heard. The way Bruce said she threatened Damian's life both in and out of the womb. Thankfully, Bruce had got to the point when he was fifteen where he didn't want to put up with Talia anymore and made a run for it.

"She was pregnant. I honestly didn't think she would follow through with her threats. Or that they were real in the first place." But the bloodied knife and stab wound in her stomach was enough to have Bruce realising that she was completely serious when she threatened Bruce. She would harm her children to be head of the league.

"The blood on the floor," Clark remembered. He had been tip toeing around it on his quest for Damian. "That's sick."

"That's behind us. We need to get back to America. Ra's will keep Talia from following, he had promised so long as I got Damian out as well he would leave me alone. I think he knew…" that Clark would be able to help Clark finished. He supposed it really was a bit too convenient Bruce was the one who came to 'kill' him.

Still, for helping, Clark didn't really do much. Nothing that Ra's couldn't do anyway. He chanced the question when Bruce was less defensive, Damian settling down for a short nap in his lap. The answer, Talia just needed another barrier between Bruce and herself. Ra's couldn't keep her away forever, no matter how hard he tried. Politics in the League were more complicated than they first appeared. With Bruce still heir but reigning from afar his hold on the assassins would be weakened. Talia, still holding her title as Bruce's paramour would be the one they looked to instead. With that much support and her ways of manipulating people she would be out of the League and looking to get Bruce and Damian back to secure her place. The plan wasn't for Clark to use his strength to get Damian out, it was to show that there was someone ready, able to fight her off when she made her move.

"A power play," Clark realised, remembering Lex talking about such things when his father came around. He said the actual moves were secondary to the talk beforehand, the posturing and threats. Bruce was showing his cards. "And what makes you think I'm going to help you. I held up my end of the bargain, and according to Ra's I'm free from being targeted."

Bruce didn't even look worried that Clark might not help him again. "You really want Damian's blood on your hands?" He asked.

"She wouldn't-" But she would Clark realised. Damian was useless unless she had him hostage. She had proved she could make more children for Bruce as well, which meant his life was worthless right now. Clark looked at the little hands falling slack in sleep. "You're too clever for your own good, you know that right."

Bruce offered him a smirk and that was it for a few hours. Clark didn't sleep much, Bruce didn't sleep at all. He kept thinking about the horrors of Nanda Parbat and the fact Bruce had been there since he was ten. The training he must have went through and the other things he'd grown to get used to. Even now, when Clark saw him there were no signs of panic, no ways in which Clark would expect a normal person to react in this situation. Bruce's pulse was steady and his demeaner calm. It was eerie.

He was happy when they finally got moving again, Clark taking the initiative to backtrack again with Bruce and Damian in his arms. Damian was more awake this time and seemed to enjoy the rushing wind. Bruce had to stop him more than once from climbing into a more comfortable position to spread his arms out, the boy having to make do with grinning into the breeze.

They got to the airport just as it struck one, Bruce stalking off as soon as he was set down again to make travel arrangements. While he did, Clark found himself a bathroom, finally doing something to make himself look a respectable member of society again. It was harder than it looked. While his skin took nothing more than a quick wash, his clothes were filthy from the snow and dirt that was the mountain range. He'd already changed into his spare set of clothes a few days ago, thinking the trek wouldn't have been as bad as it was. It took a lot of water and Clark deciding which clothes were the least dingy before he managed to look like he was recovering from a boy's holiday rather than surviving an assassin's guild.

When he got out Bruce had found a McDonalds, and this time Clark took the burger handed out to him. It was no smoked hog, or American burger, but it was greasy, tasty and there was another one waiting for him when he was finished.

Damian, Clark realised around the time they were boarding, was an unnaturally quiet child. He didn't know whether it was because of how he was brought up or just his personality in general, but where other kids would cry or scream Damian just kept quiet. If he wanted something he usually tugged his father's sleeve and Bruce seemed to know what it was. Clark only heard him say a few things in the almost day he'd known the kid and that had been "Baba," to Bruce and some kind of word in, he wanted to say Chinese but wasn't too sure, as he pointed to a cat that ran past.

He napped without complaint on the plane, climbing over the seats when the fasten seatbelt sign turned off and curling up in Bruce's lap. Clark was kind of glad for it, he'd been destroying the hand rest again through take off, and now Damian was out of the middle seat Bruce let his hand rest for the taking in his place.

Metropolis was a breath of fresh air. He'd never thought himself as much of a home bird before, but there was something about setting foot on American soil. Whether it was because Bruce had said they would be safe or home was so close he could taste it remained to be seen. Regardless, Clark was wondering whether he should offer Bruce a quicker way home than flying when he met up with him at the ticket counter with another hamburger. Only, Bruce wasn't buying a flight to Smallville.

"Gotham? What's in Gotham?"

"Home."

Oh. Right. He should have figured that Bruce wasn't coming back with him. He'd never heard of a Bruce like the one in front of him in Smallville before, so it was unlikely he would have grown up there. It answered some part of the accent question Clark had, placing the hard d's and curling s's to that of a Gothamite.

Clark debated as he turned down a flight to Smallvile, whether he should maybe go with Bruce for a few days. Just to see him settle in, and maybe make sure he was telling the truth about wanting to leave the assassin life. He didn't strike Clark as a liar, but there was something he wasn't telling Clark either, that darkness in his eyes still not gone even now they were miles away from Nanda Parbat. If he really was planning on leaving that life behind him he surely would have looked somewhat freer.

"Your parents will be worried," Bruce said when Clark was still debating to go or not.

"I'll phone them," Clark decided, telling Bruce he would meet him in Gotham as he ran off.

Bruce's flight took long enough for Clark to phone his parents and listen to them start on their irresponsibility rant. He got it all, running off without telling them, putting himself in danger when Clark told them he was helping Bruce out with a problem, missing school and finally not telling Lex. That last one came as a bit of a surprise, apparently Lex hearing about Clarks' disappearance had him making base camp in the Kent farm for the past few days. He thought he'd been offed and was having his men search the Kent farm for Clarks' body. When his parents heard that version of events from Lex they had been murderous, Clark was kind of glad he'd given it a few days for anger to change to relief as they told him Lex had come close to finding Clark's ship three times since his disappearance.

Clark wasn't surprised when his parents had finished their little rant Lex came on after them. Unlike his parents Lex started with Bruce, telling Clark there was no mention of him at the school at all. He'd even had Chloe look he'd gotten that desperate and was distraught that the information she had gathered on Bruce was missing too. No school records, myspace, it had went missing in seconds. Even the photo's she'd taken herself were gone, Lex convinced the second day of looking for Clark that they were probably looking for a body.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you," Lex finished. "And how much I'm going to kill you when you get back. You don't run off like that when you have someone on your tail. Not without informing me at the very least."

"Well, I'm fine," Clark soothed, "And I'm coming home in a few days, maybe a week."

"And the assassin?"

"Taken care of," Clark promised. "It turned out he wasn't trying to kill me Lex. He just wanted help."

"You'll excuse me if I find that hard to believe," Lex scoffed, but promised to soothe things over with Clark's parents so long as he promised he was coming home and wasn't tied up somewhere just saying these things.

"Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So people don't start complaining about characterisation, I was watching Arrow and I was like, what would it have been like if Bruce had went to the League of shadows as a child instead of Batman. Worse, what would have happened if Talia was more psychotic than she was in her revival. I have nothing against the character, lover the older versions of her actually, but someone had to fill the role and it just made sense to go this way.


	3. Chapter 3

Damian was the first one out the plane, running out of the terminal with Bruce hot on his heels. He was fast for a toddler, Clark catching him before he could climb on top of the baggage carousel. The past few days had finally taken their toll on Bruce. As soon as he stopped running after Damian he turned from alert bloodhound to zombie. The circles under his eyes were pure black now, his feet dragging slightly as he reluctantly led Clark out and onto the streets of Gotham.

Gotham, for lack of a better word, was gloomy. The sky looked like it had never even heard the word sunlight, grey clouds forming some kind of protective barrier over the city. Even with sunlight the buildings towered so high there were shadows as black as night covering all the streets and houses they passed. Neon lights were already shining despite it still being daytime, a fog rising from the sewers giving them a horror movie look.

"It's very… you," Clark decided on as Bruce took them through another street.

"If you mean elegant and sophisticated in ways others would not understand then I will take that as a compliment."

They were almost mugged three times when Bruce eventually brought them to a hotel. It was right in the city centre, a few doors down from the only bright beacon in this city Wayne Enterprises. Bruce took them around the back, finding some employee entrance to sneak in. Around the third flight up Clark got the feeling they weren't going to be doing things the legal way anymore. He kept himself quiet, figuring Bruce already didn't want him around anymore, arguing with him might just get him kicked back to Smallville before he wanted.

Ten flights and a record breaking lock picking later Clark was let into the life of luxury. A penthouse four times the size of Clark's room opened out to a massive floor to ceiling window at the edge. There were two bedrooms, both of which looked preserved but lived in. Bruce looked right at home as he sent Damian off into one of the rooms, making a beeline for the shower Clark was definitely going to check out later.

For now, he went exploring with Damian, finding clean clothes in the wardrobes and little nick nacks in the drawers. A family had lived here once, probably when they were in the city. It was different to what Clark expected of rich people, like Gotham had their own style of sophistication. Cocktail dresses and business suits were swapped out for clothes that wouldn't feel left out in some kind of gangster movie. Pinstripes and lace, they were beautiful. Clark felt almost guilty when he rifled through them, Bruce telling him to find something that fit with only the briefest hesitation.

Cleaned up and polished, Bruce fit right at home in Gotham. Damian too when he came running in with a pair of silk pyjama's trailing behind him.

"Shopping," Bruce decided when more rifling showed nothing fitting for a toddler.

"You have money then?" Clark guessed.

Bruce shrugged, "I have funds from Ra's. However, I will not need them."

More illegal doings then. Clark was starting to think he was right to follow Bruce.

The first night in Gotham was uneventful. Bruce introduced Damian to the wonders of television, and the two of them hijacked a phone in one of the lower floors to order food. A short stakeout later and Clark was starting to get an idea how Bruce had lived on his jobs. It was impressive. Especially since Penthouses preferred their privacy, there would be no one knocking or checking up on them even if it was empty. Not unless someone made the call.

Clark's moral high ground left again as he happily ate a meal Bruce had effectively stolen from the hotel. Also when he took a shower and spent a good ten hours luxuriating in the main bedroom.

The next few days followed in the same pattern. Nothing really illegal going on but Bruce stealing food and squatting in someone's penthouse. Eventually Clark had to go. His parents had gotten more and more worried the next few times he called, his dad even threatening to come get him. He couldn't miss anymore school either, not with his senior year almost over. So, despite every part of him wanting to just make sure Bruce wasn't going to go on a killing spree, he bade him goodbye, zipping off back home with the thought niggling at the back of his mind that maybe this was what Bruce had been waiting for.

He was on the lookout the next few days at school for any mention of suspicious deaths or world ending news. He had the Gotham Gazette refreshed every hour between lessons, just waiting for a glimpse of Bruce.

Chloe was on the warpath when he got back. Lex hadn't exactly kept the assassin quiet and with Bruce just disappearing she had put two and two together. Clark got more slaps than he was comfortable with on his first day back. Lana joining in too when Clark asked how she was doing this week.

Lex picked him up after school every day, the two of them going to either his manor or the farm. 24-hour surveillance seemed to have been agreed on by everyone in Clark's life, meaning he didn't have the time to go zipping to Gotham to check on Bruce no matter how much he wanted to.

"I just can't believe it," Martha said one night through dinner. Jonathan sighed into his seat, the two of them saying that a lot since Clark had come back. The subject of Bruce had been somewhat of a touchy subject. Clark hadn't wanted to tell them the full story, not until he knew himself whether Bruce was being truthful about living the straight life. All they knew was that Bruce was a killer and that he had taken Clark away for a few days. "I mean, he just seemed so…"

"Lost," Jonathan finished, "Should've known it was just an act though. We've seen enough crazies these past couple of years to have known better."

"He wasn't that bad," Clark defended. "I mean, he didn't hurt me."

They both sent him disbelieving looks. The first thing Clark had found out when he came back was that they had been through his room looking for clues. They had found the arrow hidden under his bed, Lex going on the defensive when Clark asked why he would tell Clark's parents there had been someone after him. "I thought you were dead Clark," Lex had said, which, Clark guessed was as good an excuse as any.

"Well, he didn't hurt me after that," Clark amended.

"Maybe if you tell us what really happened," Jonathan prompted. Clark kept his mouth shut, for now, and changed the subject to Lana's latest plight.

Eventually, right in the middle of Chemistry when Clark was beginning to miss having someone to talk science to, he got a buzz on his phone telling him the gazette had been updated. It was torture the rest of the lesson, wondering what would be waiting for him. It turned out Gotham was a cesspit of crime. Murder, rape and robbery were in the paper every single day. What was more, the people knew who had committed most of these acts and nothing was done about it. No one was arrested, and if they were the high risers they were let go after a few hours.

He zipped to the computer lab as soon as the bell rang, pulling up the latest issue and knowing it was Bruce right from the headline. A man named Joe Chill had been admitted to A&E that morning after swallowing almost half a bottle of bleach. The article suggested that the man had mistaken it for some kind of alcohol, the apartment being littered with empty bottles when the call came. As of now the man's chances looked good, but all that could change in the coming hours.

He didn't hang around for Lex when school was out, figuring he would make some excuse up when he got back. Instead he went to the penthouse he'd left Bruce at only to find it empty. There was no sign Bruce had been there at all. Clark didn't know Gotham that well, so he started with the guy who had been admitted.

The hospital was full to bursting. Nurses and Doctors alike were screaming at each other above their patients cries, anarchy causing more injuries than healing. Joe Chill was in one of fifteen beds in the same room, he was unconscious and looking far worse than the headlines had led to believe. Amongst his little poisoning episode, the guy had also seemed to fall on top of half the bottles in his apartment, stitches gaping on his skin almost every inch Clark saw.

He wasn't as stealthy as he thought he was coming in, a Doctor grabbing his arm and leading him down the halls like fire was after them. He was talking about people thinking they could just walk into a hospital when his tone changed, the door behind them blocked out the mayhem of the hospital and Clark came face to face with Bruce.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Clark snapped, pulling his arm away. "You said you weren't a murderer. I believed you."

"The man is alive isn't he," Bruce pointed out, stripping off the surgical gloves and hopping onto a fire escape. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." Although what Clark was going to do to him he hadn't really thought that far. "Where's Damian?" As if on cue a little head poked its way from the shadows.

Knowing Bruce was being difficult on purpose Clark followed him back through the streets of Gotham to a series of apartment buildings. It wasn't as nice as the penthouse, but Bruce had made himself a nice little nest there anyway, Damian rushing over to the few new items Bruce must have gotten since Clark had last seen him. He was happy to see the toys were new and not second hand. He didn't want to think too badly of Gotham, but Damian was a toddler, he shouldn't be putting things Bruce just happened to find on the streets as toys in his mouth.

"You know I can't believe you. You said you wanted to break free of this life, and then you do this."

"You are such a hypocrite," Bruce said, stripping out of his scrubs and into one of the few suits he'd taken from the penthouse. "I have seen you put men in hospitals. Why are you exempt and not me?"

"Because if I put them in a hospital it's because they were trying to hurt someone. I don't go out of my way to do it."

Bruce scowled over at him, "And you assume this man is innocent? You were so sure I did something malicious because I wanted to that you raced over here to put me in my place. You are a smart man Clark, I expect better of you."

He wanted to tell Bruce he wasn't trying to live up to his expectations, but something about what he said had him keeping quiet. Bruce was right, he had just raced over here expecting the worst. To be fair to Clark, near the worst had actually happened. But he hadn't even looked into why Bruce would be targeting that guy.

Not having much else to say, Clark left for Smallville, accepting the grounding when it came from his parents. The next day at school however, Clark went to Chloe, showing her the article he found. "But it just doesn't make sense," He finished, having already looked up this Joe Chill guy when he went home that night. "I mean, he doesn't have any money, and apart from a few mugging arrests there's no one to really call an enemy."

"Is this about Bruce?" Chloe guessed, Clark figuring he was being quite obvious with how particular he was being by bringing this to her. Not to mention he'd told her that he'd last seen Bruce going to Gotham.

The affirmation didn't sway her, thankfully, which meant that by the time he came in the next day Chloe had theories coming out her ears as to why Joe Chill had been on Bruce's radar. She thought it could be because of the connection to the Maroni gang. Gang wars being a common thing in Gotham she thought maybe Bruce had taken up a job as a hand for hire to put some money on the table.

"No, that doesn't make sense," Clark said, sure that he was right about it. If Bruce really was a hand for hire he would be killing people. As far as he knew assassins didn't do a half assed job and gangs didn't hire those who did either.

Chloe accepted that, and moved on to the only other reason he could be targeted, which brought them to Joe Chill's criminal record. "He's been arrested for muggings more than once Clark."

"So?"

"So," Chloe pulled up another article. "You said his real name was Bruce right?" Clark nodded. "I looked up any connection between Bruce and Joe. Nothing. Then I looked up Bruce and muggings and came up with this." On screen were thirteen different articles spanning months. The headlines ranged from 'Missing Boy' to 'Wayne Murder.' But the most important thing that really got Clark's attention were the photos. It was Bruce, he recognised it from the year book photos that had been temporarily available. But this Bruce was in a suit, standing next to two well to do people who had to be his parents.

Bruce had said his parents were shot.

"Damn."

He brought his mom's apple pie as an apology the next day, Damian taking it off Clark's hands before he even stopped running. They were still in the rundown apartment, Bruce doing push ups off the floor. He said nothing as Clark made his apologies, guessing that, if Clark had found the guy who murdered his parents he didn't think he would even show the restraint Bruce had.

When Clark left as it got dark Bruce still hadn't said anything to him. He was either being childish, or just hadn't anything to really say to him. Either way, Clark still felt guilty as he tip toed back into his room.

The man, Joe Chill, stayed in hospital for a total of two weeks. During those weeks, he seemed to have gained a conscious, or been visited by one pissed off assassin since he went to the police as soon as he was out. The Wayne murder had finally been solved, the whole of Gotham reeling from the news. Clark even heard Metropolis were doing an article on it when Chloe brought it up. She slipped Clark Bruce's photo during French. "My rich boy theory was right."

Clark may have been a little bit obsessed with Bruce he realised, as he looked up the Wayne's for the fifth time that day. He was trying to figure out why Bruce was living in squalor when he could just tell the world he was alive and get his money back. He could have just went to ask him, but considering his last visit had Bruce ignoring him he didn't know how well that would go down.

Eventually, he just accepted that Bruce was trying to lay low, and decided to help him out a bit. His parents had laid off in the last week, no longer expecting him back straight after school, and when he mentioned sending some of his old clothes to the charity shop his mom was okay with him going alone. He made sure to pack some of his less than sentimental toddler clothes, and nabbed an extra helping of his mom's cooking before he ran off to Gotham.

Bruce wasn't there when he got to the apartment. Again, it was like he had just disappeared. Clark thought he was going to have to get some kind of tracking device for him as he started searching the streets again for his wayward assassin.

With no other bodies in the hospital, and none in the morgue either, Clark had to rely on his Wayne knowledge to think of places Bruce might be dwelling. The penthouse was out, Bruce having been there already and Clark knowing he wouldn't hit the same place twice. The apartment, it turned out, had been a series of buildings his father bought before his death. The plans that had been drawn up showed it was going to be a new clinic, something that could have really helped somewhere like Gotham.

The most obvious places to look would have been the Wayne Enterprises building or the manor. Knowing how Bruce liked crowded places and secret rooms, he went looking at the Wayne Enterprises building first.

Getting past the front desk and security only took a little extra speed. When he was in, he used his x-ray vision to scour the walls and floors until, sure enough, there were two skeletons of a man and a child napping quietly in the vents.

It was in the storage part of the building, Clark bumping the metal slightly and watching Bruce's skeleton jump. His heartbeat calmed after a second, Bruce dropping down with his usual blasé frown and no greeting.

Clark handed the clothes over. "I looked you up. It wasn't hard to figure out where you might be." Quiet again. But Bruce accepted the bag, and the food, helping Damian down to start on the latter while Bruce looked through the clothes. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

"This isn't the life for a kid," Clark tried again. Maybe if he could appeal to his want to make Damian happy he might be more amendable to accepting help. "You have a house and money enough to make him comfortable. Why are you living like this?"

"It's complicated."

"Because of your business? Alfred? Yeah, I did my research Bruce and that's no excuse not to go home. Did you know that he's still looking for you? All the money in the world and he's using it to look for a boy that went missing seven years ago." Bruce didn't answer, but the way he was avoiding Clark's eyes said he was aware of the search. "If you went home, he-"

"Would be distraught," Bruce muttered. "I am not a little boy. I am not even a nice person. If he saw me-"

"He wouldn't care," Clark insisted. "Even if he doesn't accept you, it's your house, and Damian needs more than sleeping in abandoned Wayne buildings. At least check the place out."

No answer again, Clark was getting rather sick of Bruce's silences. Still, he hung around just to make sure Damian was alright. The kid was still too quiet for his own good. He ate most of the meal Clark brought, had a stilted conversation with his father about something Bruce found utterly fascinating and tottered around the storage area like he couldn't move like the wind if he wanted to. Physically he seemed fine. He had all his fingers and toes. Not as many scars as his father when he put a clean shirt on, but still more than he should.

"You know," Clark offered just as he was deciding to go, "If you need someone to babysit, I can do it."

That got him a glare and Bruce pulling Damian closer to him. "No."

He kept an eye out for any mention of Bruce Wayne in the papers after that.

A month and a half passed. A month and a half of Clark worrying himself sick wondering what the hell Bruce was doing right now. He had wanted to go to Gotham, but Bruce had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't welcome. It wasn't just because of Damian that Clark spent hours trolling the Gotham news. Bruce was worrying him too. Between the abuse he suffered in Nanda Parbat and trying to build a new life in Gotham Clark couldn't help but worry, wondering what he was doing to get food, where he was sleeping, if he was keeping himself safe on streets that came right out of a horror film.

He knew he was getting on Chloe's nerves. He hogged the computers at lunch, had her looking for trouble when he didn't have the time. Even when life returned to normal and Clark was fighting the latest meteor infected teenager in their lives he had her on Bruce watch.

It was finally in the middle of French that Chloe finally snapped. "Oh my God Clark just go!"

"What?"

"Bruce," Chloe grit out, "I swear, this is worse than Lana. At least with her you had breaks because you got to daydream over her in class or at the Talon. But- Clark if I have to hear one more comment about how Bruce said Miss Hardwood's French is as fake as her Prada bag I'm going to scream. Go."

"I've not been that bad." He knew he had been. Yet he was hoping if he tried his innocent eyes it would maybe soften Chloe's attitude to him.

"You have."

She was booking the bus to Gotham herself when Clark came to check on her before going home. He managed to persuade her from spending her money by promising to head up this weekend.

He tried W.E. first, glad to see Bruce not hiding out in the vents anymore. After that, he went straight to the manor, his hopes high that maybe Bruce had taken his advice. When he got there, he had a moment to take in the historic Wayne house. It was so much different to Lex's. It was a part of Gotham to begin with, where Lex's manor stood out like a sore thumb. The gargoyles and gothic architecture that featured all around Gotham seemed to cultivate into this one manor. It was beautiful, elegant and sophisticated. Very Bruce.

Knocking on the door, his hopes soared when Damian answered, his blue eyes so reminiscent to Bruce's glaring out at Clark. They softened slightly, tottering forward until he saw Clark's hands were empty before that glare was back and he was retreating back to the manor.

He had to knock again when Damian slammed the door on him, this time an elderly man he recognised from the papers as Alfred answering. "You must be Master Clark," He greeted, standing aside to let him in.

The foyer was as beautiful as the outside. Rich, clean and dark in shades. With his coat taken and Alfred leading him to the parlour room Damian finally joined them again. He seemed right at home here, jumping over the back of the couch with only a minor huff from Alfred.

"Where's Bruce?" Clark asked. It was the wrong thing to say apparently, Alfred's hand shaking as he handed over a cup of tea. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

Alfred shook his head. "Except a note and, well, even I can't fault genes, he left Master Damian here a few weeks ago."

"He doesn't want to disappoint you," Clark tried, knowing that was the reason Bruce wasn't back here.

"Regardless, knowing he's alive is more than I could have wished for."

Alfred was a good man. A kind man, and as Clark spent the rest of the afternoon with him he could see why Bruce would be hesitant in coming back.

He treated Damian like he was his own son, was patient enough to sit through the stilted words and foreign language until he understood Damian's meaning. He had already spoilt the boy, telling Clark about the new clothes in Damian's wardrobe and the sketchbook he'd picked out himself.

"I've been keeping him in the manor as much as I can to avoid the press. Lord knows what they would do with him." Damian didn't seem to mind, Alfred only having a few stories of Damian running the halls and causing trouble. Other than that, he was an angel, Alfred said, worrying himself that Damian was a bit too good for a boy his age. "Of course, Master Bruce was the same at his age so it's not wholly uncommon for children to show this kind of behaviour."

Clark wondered if Bruce had ever actually been normal then if that was the case. Curiosity piqued, he asked Alfred for more stories about Bruce, pleased when he even got a little tour out of it. He'd been sullen, quiet, and quite antisocial. Alfred had put it down to him being lonely. With no neighbours and Gotham being how it was the only association Bruce had with children his own age was at school and at functions.

Clark latched on to the few photos of friends Bruce did have when Alfred showed him, a young Lex Luthor staring back with the same sullen look Bruce had on. They were a match made in heaven, and it explained how they knew each other.

"So, you really don't know where Bruce is?" Clark asked. It was late, and he was considering going home if there was no real lead to follow.

Alfred however, was more cunning than Clark gave him credit for, inviting him to stay the night as he said, "It's curious, but around the time it gets dark I sometimes hear reading from Damian's room. Singing sometimes too."

"That is curious," Clark agreed, letting Alfred show him one of the guest rooms.

Dinner at the manor was quaint, Alfred telling him he hadn't had a chance to test out his cooking skills in a while as he set a nice shepherd's pie in front of him. The room he was given was just as lavish as the penthouse, if not more, and when dark came, well, Gotham was already dark, at night it was like there was nothing there at all.

Sure enough, just as Clark was drifting off to sleep he heard singing come from across the hall. Alfred had put him in this room on purpose he knew. It was a soothing melody, one that had a smaller voice joining it at the refrain. It was in essence, adorable.

Clark edged out into the hallway, sitting just outside Damian's door as the singing changed to reading. Dante's Inferno was probably not something one usually read to a child, but Damian didn't put up much complaint even telling Bruce to turn to this page or that.

It carried on for a while before Damian must have dropped off and Bruce's feet started retreating from the bed. He heard them go near the window, taking his chance he nudged the door open ever so slightly, knowing Bruce would have seen it.

Sure enough, two steely blue eyes not belonging to Damian peeked out at him after a moment, Bruce crouching down until he was eye level with Clark. He didn't say anything, like usual, and since he wasn't running either Clark let himself get a good look at Bruce, using his x-ray vision to see what the door hid. He looked well. Fed, and clothed in something that actually fit instead of Clark's shirts. There were a few new cuts along Bruce's arms, and one on his chest, but other than that he was physically fit.

"You know, sometimes I wonder what I have to do before you take my advice."

"I did," Bruce pointed out, "You said Damian would benefit from a real house and I brought him here."

"Yeah, but when I said that I thought you would have went with him. This whole thing is childish." He didn't know what Bruce was like before, but if he was anything like he was now Clark was starting to pity Alfred.

Since Bruce wasn't forthcoming about any news about himself, no matter how many questions Clark tried, he changed the subject to Smallville and what Bruce had missed now he was in Gotham. He told Bruce all about the new meteor infected teen, the people going missing and his parents pushing more college pamphlets his way. Just mundane stuff. He figured if Bruce got tired enough he would leave, yet the hours dwindled and Bruce stayed peering out from between the doorframe.

Eventually, just as the sun was starting to come up, or some lighter clouds since this was Gotham, Bruce made a move to go. On impulse more than anything Clark made a grab for him, surprised when he found himself on his back and Bruce gone in a second. No one had ever been able to do that before.

He chalked it up to surprise and went to catch the last few hours before morning.

Breakfast at Wayne Manor was nothing to pass up on. Damian spent most of it following Alfred around like a lost duckling, his sketchbook clasped in one hand and a piece of toast in the morning. He seemed to be trying to show him some of his drawings, but multitasking wasn't really meant for toddlers so Damian grew more and more frustrated as both things didn't happen at once. Clark put the boy out of his misery when it looked like he was either going to cry or reach for a knife, herding Damian to the table so Clark could hold the sketchbook while he ate.

Alfred tried to give Damian all of his attention, but being by himself in a manor as large as this he had things to do and little time in the day to do it. Clark thought he was trying to make things nice for Bruce, even if he still didn't show his face. Clark had a moment where he considered trying to look for Bruce himself again when Alfred went missing with a plate of pancakes. He didn't. Instead, he concentrated on Damian's sketches, the boy having more than just a little bit of talent. At two he was amazing, which made thoughts of how he got that good creep into his head. What kind of regime did he have in the League?

"Is that a cat?" Clark asked, Damian thinking over the word cat for a while before nodding. "It's really good."

Damian flicked to another page where Clark could make out Bruce's distinctive features. It was the first time Clark had seen Bruce smile kindly since he'd figured out Bruce's cover. Granted, it was a drawing, but it was nice to know that Bruce did smile, even if it was just to Damian.

Talia was in a few of Damian's drawings, a common shade of red following her page after page. Ra's was there too, as well as Nyssa, Damian babbling something in that language again, telling Clark something good about his family from the tone of it.

When Alfred did come back in, the plate was missing and he was taking Damian to get changed. "Feel free to stay as long as you like," Alfred said, disappearing through one of the many halls of Wayne Manor.

He made his trips to the manor a weekly thing. Every Friday, he would get Chloe to cover for him with his parents and run the way to Gotham. Damian started to grow, Clark wouldn't say happy since the boy still slammed the door shut in Clark's face when he came without a treat, but he had started to warm up to him. He would spend the first few hours doing his homework for the weekend, Damian peering over his shoulder every now and then showing he was much smarter than he should be as he mumbled the answers.

When he was finished, Alfred would give him a chore or two to do after Clark insisted he could help. Usually it was polishing something or other, Clark having no qualms about keeping his powers from this man telling him the second week he came around. He didn't know what it was, maybe the fact he had kept Damian a secret for this long, or his dedication to Bruce, that had Clark comfortable enough to let someone else know his secret. The old man took it well, Clark thought, muttering something about maybe getting Clark to drag a certain bat out of his cave before handing him a duster and sending him off to the upper levels.

Damian made a game out of the chores, and Clark's powers. He didn't know when, or where, but somewhere in Wayne Manor Damian would hide in wait until Clark came past and pounce on him. He really did thank God he was invulnerable as Damian kicked and punched him like he was taking down a master criminal. It was incredible, and also kind of sad. He sometimes caught Alfred brushing past them when this happened, something like horror on his face before it melted back into that cool persona he always wore. It wasn't for Damian, and it wouldn't be for Bruce either when he finally manned up. It was, like Clark thought, the way Damian was so fluent in the way he moved that told a life of early hardship.

But it got Damian tuckered out for bed so Clark didn't mind too much. Bath time came after chores, Damian putting up as much of a fuss he could in the face of bubbles. When he was clean and dry both Damian and himself got a cookie as they filled in the hour before Damian's bedtime with whatever game or activity the boy fancied that weekend. Then, finally, as it started to get dark Clark got to listen to Bruce come out of his hiding place somewhere in Gotham and spend half the night reading or singing to Damian.

"I read about some of your escapades," Clark told him the fourth weekend he was over. He had even bought himself a Gotham Gazette when the headline beeped on his phone. "Gang members confess their sins, murders conveniently showing up tied up and ready for the GCPD. It's… impressive. If a bit dangerous." He eyed Bruce's current injuries, the bullet wound starting to scab on his thigh and the faint scratch on the tip of his nose. "Is this why you still haven't seen Alfred?" No answer. "You've been planning this for a while, haven't you? Coming back here and purging the underworld. I can see it in your eyes."

"Someone has to."

Clark had thought Bruce was crazy when he first realised what was happening. He worried about the people of Gotham first, wondering just what kind of extremes Bruce was going to employ to take down those he considered the enemy. He wondered how Bruce even chose the bad guys, when enough was enough. So far however, he hadn't went for anyone that hadn't at least killed someone. Clark didn't know whether he didn't have the means to stop a robbery yet or thought them low enough on his radar to let them go. What he did know was that somehow, in this crazy scheme of his, Bruce had managed to give the GCPD a new zest for life.

Along with the gang members showing up to confess, the GCPD had successfully taken down drug rings and heavy hitters they previously would have let roam free. They had given a statement to the press that they didn't agree with whatever had shaken the underworld, but they would be dammed if they looked a gift horse in the mouth.

"I also know what you're doing here," Clark told him, having come to that realisation the week before. "Leaving Damian in Alfred's care. You're distancing yourself from him, making him rely on someone else because you don't think you're going to be around much longer."

"Assassins don't live long lives."

So, Clark was right then. "That doesn't mean you should put Damian at arms-length. You're his father, he's going to hate you more if you die and he knows you didn't spend every moment you could with him. This thing you're doing, you're just hurting both of you."

The door closed slightly, Bruce's knee knocking it as he looked towards Damian's bed. He still hadn't let Clark in, no matter how many weekends he came over. "I have been hurting him since he was born," Bruce said at last. "It's the least I can do to keep him safe now."

"I get that," Clark did. He had spent since he was fifteen fighting for those he loved. He'd fought monsters and people alike to keep them from harm. He got it. He also got that Damian needed him just as much as Gotham did.

"You don't," Bruce insisted. "You don't understand. I'm not well Clark."

Oh "Like… a disease?"

That got him an eyeroll, although the door blocked most of it from view. "You have looked me over every Friday you come, does it look like I have a disease?"

Clark looked again now, seeing if he could spot anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing, which left… oh. "Talia."

"Among other things," Bruce admitted. "Nightmares, flashbacks, so much anger some days I can't even talk to someone without the urge to just punch them. Damian can't be around that, not now he's away from his mother.

"So? You're a billionaire, I think you can afford some medical care." God knows he'd seen Lex call on the best in the world when he had so much as a headache. According to Chloe the Wayne's were worth twice the Luthor's, a good, private doctor wouldn't be too hard to find.

Bruce didn't see it that way, sending another glare hard enough to chill Clark's insides. "Do you know what happens to mentally unstable people in Gotham? Especially those who have committed a crime? They go to Arkham, have you heard of that?" Clark shook his head. "Look it up."

Which he did when he went back home. From the first page Clark almost didn't want to read on, and that was just the history of the asylum. Apart from still using backward forms of medicine, the inmates ranged from murderous to just plain evil. Psychiatrists were found all around Gotham, but from the sounds of Bruce's symptoms and the fact he was the missing Wayne heir who had been kidnapped to God knows where since he was ten they would be recommending Arkham off the bat. The worst thing about all this was that the people of Gotham thought this was all normal. They thought institutions like this were just a part of life. More articles than Clark could count praised Arkham for what it was, thanking it for keeping the criminally insane off the streets.

By the time Clark came around the next week he had a more sympathetic look on Bruce's situation, enough to not push him into showing himself to Alfred anyway. Instead, he spent that Friday asking about Bruce's big plans.

"You have to have a target."

Bruce shrugged behind the door, letting Clark guess his way through gang names now he was growing more and more familiar with Gotham.

"You could always try and go after the bosses," Clark suggested. "I'm sure someone with your skill set could find a way to take them down."

"Already do."

"I could help." He'd been wanting to make that suggestion for a while. Ever since the first heavy hitter from the Falcone gang was brought in almost a week and a half ago. Bruce was starting to make a real difference in Gotham. He heard the new district attorney was actually willing to prosecute this time. Smallville, he knew, he was helping people there. But that was really just cleaning up the messes he had made himself. Here, the people Bruce was bringing in had been at large before Bruce came on the scene. They were ingrained in Gotham and Bruce was finally doing something to make that not true anymore. It was, admirable, and although he'd never really put much thought into what he wanted to do after high school he thought following Bruce down one of his paths might not be so bad a career choice.

"You wouldn't like my methods."

Clark knew all about his methods and merely rolled his eyes at that comment. "I could babysit then. Damian seems to like me."

A rare laugh sprang from behind the door. "Damian… sure, he likes you." He could be wrong but he was sure that was a teasing tone in Bruce's voice. He was in a good mood tonight it seemed. "But it's one thing when Alfred's around and another to be alone with him."

"Oh, come on," Clark whined, he actually liked the kid. He was funny when Clark could understand him, making comments to Alfred that would have been smart if he had a greater grasp of English. He was full of energy, always giving Clark the run around. It was nice spending time with him, like the little brother he had missed out on having. "I can take him to the farm sometimes. I'm sure he'd like the animals, and he'd be safe with me, you know that. It's not like there's anyone who would recognise him either. Besides, he needs to go outside, he's starting to look as pale as you."

Bruce looked like he was going to complain. But after a moment he said, "Fine. Take him on Wednesday and bring him back Thursday. Tell Alfred."

He did, the old man horrified until Clark said he was bringing Damian back on Thursday. He probably thought Bruce was leaving again.

Clark spent three days planning his evening with Damian. He told his mom he was babysitting some girls kid, the who she didn't really question since she was always happy to have a little guy running around the farm. Between the two of them they found all of Clark's old baby toys and even some books he knew Damian liked in his school stuff. Cookies and a nice Kent family meal were on the cards too, his mom making sure Damian was going to have the best night of his life.

Until he came that was. She took one look at the little boy shaking the dizziness off from the run and knew immediately he was Bruce's. Clark could predict the moment he was pulled aside after that, watching Damian with one keen eye as the boy made a curious exploration of Clark's family room.

"That boy-"

"Is Bruce's. I told you, he was in trouble. They had Damian hostage."

That softened her up a bit. He knew his mom could understand the want to keep their child safe, the measures they would take. Up until the part where she started figuring out that in order for Clark to offer his babysitting services he would have had to see Bruce in the recent past. Clark sped off before she could start again, grabbing Damian around the middle and taking him out to see the cows.

"Moo!" Damian imitated, the cow nearest to them mooing again.

"I think he likes you."

Damian sent him a glare the mirror of his fathers, his English better these days but still a bit patchy as he said, "Cows, no people. No like, like me."

"Sure they do." The cow in front of them mooed again, "See, he likes you. It's why he's mooing."

Damian rolled his eyes and let Clark take him to the horses. Those he had a lot to say on, not even bothering with English as he talked. Clark thought he probably knew all about their breed and heritage from the way he was speaking. He wouldn't put it past Damian anyway.

Sure enough, when it came to bedtime Damian ignored the bright kid books his mom had found the other day, grabbing Clark's school books instead to sift through.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like this one Damian?" Ma asked, holding Winnie the Pooh up for inspection. She had lost her standoffishness after half an hour, quelling Jonathan when he came to the same conclusion about Clark's absent Fridays as her.

Damian shook his head, lifting himself up to grab more books with no pictures until he found one on the French Revolution. "Napoleon," He grinned, handing Clark the history text and sitting himself happily next to him.

"Strange boy," Jonathan said after Damian had dropped off. "Not that you weren't Clark, but even you didn't know who Napoleon was until you were seven."

"I don't think they had kids books where he grew up," Clark said. He hadn't seen any in his room anyway. Alfred had taken the liberty to get a few, but they mostly collected dust in the manor library once the butler discovered Damian preferred Dante to Dinosaurs. Clark wondered if it was Talia that had insisted on the historical texts or Bruce.

It didn't really matter then. As soon as Clark made sure Damian was tucked up tight his parents started on about how irresponsible it was for Clark to see Bruce. Not only was he dangerous, but Clark had lied to them. If there was one thing they had taught him it was that if it was to do with his powers there were no secrets, they were two of the only people that Clark could be honest with. He listened to it all, knowing he deserved it, and was glad they at least told him he wasn't banned from seeing Bruce if that really was the reason he wanted Clark's help in the first place, but he had to tell them the next time he was going to see him.

The reason for why Bruce was so amused at the idea of Clark babysitting Damian became apparent during the night. Clark had been drifting on the couch for about an hour when something clattered off his chest, when he bolted up to see what, there was only the bottom half of a shattered knife. Three hours in, Clark was jumped on, a pillow pushed over his mouth. By the time he managed to wrestle the thing off without causing any harm Damian had disappeared again. Sixth hour, Damian jumped him again. Eighth, nothing, which had Clark on edge.

By the time the sun came up he was jumping at every little sound. Never had he been so happy than he was when his Pa came down to tell him it was chore time. Naturally, Damian jumped him just before he put the feed out for the chickens, wrapping his little hands around Clark's throat and even biting his ear. Clark just let it happen this time. It wasn't like Damian was hurting him. He did make sure he pulled Damian off his ear when the little needles he had for teeth started biting more strongly.

Of course, his parents thought it was hilarious. They thought Clark was giving him a piggyback, not knowing the little arms clasping Clark's throat were strong enough to kill a man. Pancakes had Damian letting go, the very picture of innocence as he said a few stilted pleases and thank you.

"Oh he's so adorable. What time did you say you had to bring him back?" Martha asked, sneaking in a little hug as she piled another pancake on Damian's plate.

"Noon. Alfred wants to start on writing." He wondered briefly if Alfred had to put up with late night assassinations. But then, in Gotham Bruce stayed watching over Damian when it got dark so he doubted it.

"Bruce must have been some age," Jonathan muttered.

Clark kept his own comments to himself, mostly because Damian had perked up at his father's name. The rest of the morning before Clark had to take him back he showed Damian around Smallville. He took him to the school, where he kept a low profile in case he got caught. He took Damian to the Talon where the waitress on duty promised not to say anything about him not being in school and may have given Damian a free milkshake when he babbled something to her.

Their last stop before Gotham had been back at the Kent farm so Damian could have one more tour with the animals. Had been. No sooner did Clark cross the front door he wished he had whisked Damian back to Gotham.

Lionel was in his kitchen. Lionel was in his kitchen talking to his mom. He could see the tension between them, the way Lionel was keeping an eye on the door in case Jonathan came in, and the way his mom was keeping herself as far away as was socially possible without being too obvious.

He expected the intrusive questions. The "And who might this be?" and "I didn't think Clark had any cousins, what with him being adopted." What he didn't expect was the way Lionel stopped down to Damian's level and introduced himself in Damian's language. There were no first introductions in English, it was straight to that funny little language Clark was only just starting to grasp.

Damian didn't reply, but the fact that Clark knew he could understand Lionel had Clark on edge. He knew about Bruce, about Damian.

"We had better go," Clark said, bustling Damian out the door. He didn't bother letting the boy say goodbye to the farm, taking him straight back to Gotham.

Alfred hadn't set up when they arrived, which was quite unnatural for the man. However, as soon as he saw Damian jumping on the old furniture he hopped from his seat and started gathering the books he needed.

"I'll be back on Friday."

"How does Lionel know about you?" Clark asked. It was Friday, Bruce was behind his usual door and Damian safely asleep and away from Clark's neck.

Bruce frowned, his brows smoothing out again after a moment. "He had dealings with Ra's a few years ago. He wanted someone murdered, we said no."

Clark felt himself relax. This meant that Bruce wasn't in league with Lionel at least, which was always a good thing. "He was at my house before I brought Damian back. He er, saw him."

Bruce didn't look concerned. "He will not bother us."

"You'd better hope so. He's not someone you want to cross." That had Bruce laughing, reminding Clark just who again he was talking to.

Surprisingly, once Clark proved he could handle all Damian had to throw at him, Bruce let him take Damian to Smallville again when he asked. Alfred worried each time Clark took Damian that he wouldn't be coming back. Clark would find him in the library, sometimes looking over Damian's sketches, most of the time looking in another sketch book that was worn and faded with age. He always looked surprised when Clark showed his face, the sketchbook put away and going about his day like nothing had happened. Clark felt bad, but Damian needed the fresh air.

He considered inviting Alfred along to some of his excursions in Smallville, however whenever he got the courage up Alfred would always tell Clark a million things he had to do around the manor that meant he couldn't get the words out.

When he was in Smallville, his mom looked like Christmas had come early. She had Clark's old toys at the ready, forcing Clark to let her have at least one hour of uninterrupted Damian time before he took him to see the animals. His dad had taken the sometimes new addition to the farm as well, teaching Damian how to hold a chicken without snapping its neck. Especially after the last time had Damian almost in tears when the 'fat bird' refused to move again.

Damian seemed to like going to the farm. He didn't put up a complaint anyway. Clark wasn't completely sure, but on Fridays when Clark was around he would sometimes hear his name mentioned to Bruce along with 'moo.'

When school let out for summer, Clark had never been so happy to have a whole day free that he could spend either at the manor or with Damian at the farm. It was also a bonus that now there was no reason for him to go back home all week he could spend more than one night in Gotham.

"So I looked up PTSD," Clark said one evening. He brought the book out he'd been studying, "There are ways to cope with it. I think, if you maybe tried some you might be able to spend more than a few hours with Damian."

"It's not that easy."

Clark huffed, quite sick of this argument by now. "Yes it is. You're just too stubborn to give it a shot."

"My-"

"Night job is difficult, I know." The shadow taking down bad guys had started liaising with the police. One detective Gordon had become the spokesman when Bruce was needing to be consulted. Clark was impressed. "Fine," Clark decided, trying a different route. "If you won't try any of my methods then I want to spend some time with you. Real time not stuck behind a door time. If you say you're not well enough to see Damian for longer than a few minutes a day then I need to be sure you're not putting him in danger those few minutes."

"You want to act as my psychiatrist?"

Clark kept himself strong as Bruce applied that cold stare at him. He let the truth stay on his face, and was surprised when Bruce eventually nodded.

"Seriously?"

"It's a logical argument, for once. Besides, you spent more time with him these days, I can't fault you for your concern."

He fought the grin threatening to spill over his face, keeping himself neutral as he made plans, in daylight, with Bruce.

His giddiness may have been enough to catch a few eyes when he got back to Smallville, first Chloe and then Lex asking him if he and Lana had finally got their acts together. Clark considered saying something, correcting them maybe, but he let them think what they liked anyway. Past experiences had taught him that they would whether he fought them or not.

"Why are you so interested in me?" Bruce asked the Friday night before Clark had scheduled their day together.

Surprisingly, this time when he went outside Damian's room the door was open, Clark taking it as the invitation it was to go inside. It was rather plain, for a child's room. No toys scattered around or funny pictures on the wall. There was a trunk at the end with little trainers on top, a dagger Clark remembered Bruce swapping out in Nanda Parbat edged into one of the bedposts and Damian, taught like a vampire in his coffin under the covers. He'd never been in here, even through the day, it felt like Bruce's space. Bruce and Damian's.

"You're the one with the profile, you tell me," Clark said, hiding his smile. Bruce hadn't bothered to hide, even when Clark walked in. Instead he was lying much the same as Damian on the covers.

Most of the night Bruce spent it next to Damian, the two of them napping in the shadows, Damian starting to spread out like a starfish the longer he slept. Clark spent his hours on the windowsill, using the brief Gotham light to read one of the books he'd heard Bruce reading earlier.

Eventually however, the night had to come to an end, the sun trying its best to break through not only the clouds but the heavy curtains in Damian's room. Just as the sounds of Alfred beginning to stir registered in Clark's ears, Bruce heaved himself from the covers and let Clark whisk him off for their day together.

Clark had it all planned out, a test so to speak, to see how much he had to research into about Bruce.

Step one in the plan was to take Bruce to Smallville. Firstly, because he didn't want Bruce to have his cover blown by some random reporter recognising him. Secondly, he didn't trust Gotham, and Smallville was his territory. If Bruce ran, he could find him in a matter of seconds. Thirdly because, well, he just didn't like how gloomy Gotham was. In the past couple of months, if possible, Bruce had lost what little colour his creamy skin had. Right now, he resembled a marble statue more than a human being.

When they got to Smallville Bruce ended up squinting, proving his eyes were too used to the darkness. Clark didn't make things easier for him, figuring it was better for Bruce to acclimatise than be given special considerations.

Sure enough, as they started towards town, the squint relaxed more and more until Clark could see some of that steely blue in Bruce's eyes.

"So I thought we could get a cup of coffee first. Don't know about you, but all these all-nighters tend to mean I need a caffeine fix."

"Interesting," Bruce muttered, Clark taking that as an okay, rather than thinking Bruce was still analysing him after all this time.

The Talon was busy, considering it had just opened for the day. Farmers and plant workers alike were streaming in and out as they went to their jobs. Lana gave Clark a smile when they came in, her eyes narrowing on Bruce before recognition had her trying to shift some drinks on another waitress to say hello.

He felt Bruce tense up beside him, Clark finally giving him a break, told him to go grab a table as he herded Lana away.

"I thought he transferred," Lana said.

"He did. Thought I would invite him around for the weekend though." Clark had been surprised when the story spread around Smallville Bruce had left spontaneously not because he was a trained killer, but because he had a younger brother to take care of in Metropolis. The whole divorce story had been heard so many times in Smallville high it was completely believable. Even more so since Damian had been spotted around town. The story went that when they saw him Damian was visiting the 'father' still left behind in Smallville. Clark was just shocked it took them less than an hour before that story became gossip fact.

Still, Clark telling Lana that Bruce was a bit hesitant around people, still being fragile from all the fighting, didn't stop her from bringing their drinks over personally. She hung around long enough to tell Bruce how happy she was to see him and get a smile that was more like a grimace in return.

Thankfully she learnt her lesson after that, which meant Clark and Bruce were left alone for the rest of the morning.

Face to face, and without the cover of darkness, the pair of them didn't really know what to say to each other. Bruce was uncomfortable out of the shadows, Clark seeing it in the way Bruce's training took over. His jittery arms stilling and his searching eyes always looking for an exit focusing on Clark's face.

Clark took it all in, seeing for certain that Bruce hadn't been lying when he said he wouldn't be able to cope if he really did start trying around the manor. But that didn't mean he couldn't, it just meant Clark was going to have to help him.

"I was thinking, maybe we could stay here for the morning and this afternoon you can help me on the farm." The Talon would get him used to the hustle and bustle of normal life without an ulterior motive forcing him to adapt, and the chores would be like a little reward. Bruce needed purpose, that was what a couple of the books had said, something to do to keep his mind off other matters, and to Clark, there was nothing more fulfilling than physical labour.

It took a while for the still calm over Bruce to crumble, like Clark had been waiting for. His mind seemed to realise that this wasn't just a check-up after about an hour, the slight glare warning Clark he better not make it too frequent as he tried to make himself comfortable again.

He took pity on Bruce around the third hour they were there. The caffeine had seized him up, and no amount of careful breaths or nails drawing blood could stop Bruce from eventually showing one tic or another. So, Clark fetched him a milkshake and one of the muffins his mom brought over to the Talon this morning. He also put on his best Clark Kent, ordinary boy look and asked Bruce what his favourite Gray Ghost episode was again.

The distraction worked wonders. Gone were the tense shoulders, instead was the boy that had walked Clark home all those months ago. Clark kept topics streaming until noon, where he let Bruce make his escape into the fields of Smallville.

Clark had told his parents about Bruce coming over ever since he suggested it. He had expected them to be against it from the onset. Delighted with Damian as they were, they were still a bit hesitant when the topic of Bruce cropped up. Surprisingly, to Clark anyway, as soon as the farm was in sight Clark's mom was out the door and hugging Bruce like a lost son.

"Look how pale you've gotten. And skinny. I thought you said you'd brought over those pies Clark Kent."

Bruce looked just as startled as Clark felt, that grimace that was almost a smile on his face as he said he was fine over and over again.

Martha brought the two of them into the house, asking after how their little Damian was and if Bruce was enjoying being out from under the assassin's league. Clark watched in almost awe as, unlike in the Talon, and as uncomfortable as Bruce was, he was actually relaxing more here than he was in a public space alone. Clark put it on his mom, she always had a way to make people feel at home, and when Clark's dad came in singing praises about the tractor Bruce had fixed up, it was like there wasn't a period where even the mention of Bruce had them turning red.

"Damian's started learning, what was it Bruce? Ballet?" Of course, it was late at night and only for an hour when Clark had caught them. But it was adorable, and Damian showed surprising skill for a two year old.

"It's good for posture, and helps the improvement of balance. I was given lessons alongside my archery training." The mention of training had his parents frowning. Thankfully, they had the decency to look past it and ask Bruce to bring Damian over himself so they could see a little recital.

"You should have seen Clark. Oh, we didn't like him doing anything too strenuous in case something happened, but that little play he was in…" Clark couldn't stop his dad if he wanted to. Nor his mom from getting the photo album. Which was, of course, when the story of the Christmas reindeer was told once again.

"Ma!" Clark tried, but she only laughed and waved him off, showing Bruce another photo of Clark Kent aged nine dressed as an octopus. He had half his arms missing and blue paint on his face when he accidentally tripped over some school crafts and tore them off without knowing.

"He was such a cute kid. Always getting into trouble," Jonathan finished.

Clark had never been as happy in his life than when he managed to get Bruce away from his parents and on to farm chores. "Just split the wood," Clark advised, hesitating for only a second before giving over the axe.

Overall, sweaty, tired and falling half asleep in Clark's arms as he ran them to Gotham, he considered the day a success. Bruce hadn't shown any truly devastating behaviour at any time. Nothing that Clark thought he couldn't fix with a few more days out.

Speaking of, he brought the topic up the next time he was at the manor. Damian deciding to spend his night on top of his wardrobe instead of in his bed meant that there were no readings or singing for Clark to listen to, so he got straight to the point instead. Bruce said it couldn't be too often, he had Gotham to take care of after all. So Clark made the suggestion of every other week, the ones he wasn't with Clark maybe Damian could take his place.

"It seems amendable," Bruce said, which was as close to a yes Clark was going to get.

Bruce had been good keeping his promises. He didn't run on the days they arranged, and handed Damian over without complaint too. The latter of which had stopped his night attacks on Clark whenever he stayed over. Instead, he preferred to do it when Clark was showering, or one particularly memorable time, when he was talking to a Luthor. Lionel had taken one look at the boy trying to kneecap him and took a firm step away. Clark remembered what Bruce had said about Lionel seeing Bruce that time when he was trying to contact the league, he supposed seeing the spawn of an assassin would be enough to frighten him.

"You have to teach Damian to stop biting," Clark told Bruce the next time it was his turn in Smallville. That was all he got out however before Bruce decided to do a runner. It was the first time he'd tried such a thing, and Clark honestly wasn't expecting it. One moment he was setting Bruce down in one of the fields and the next he was watching Bruce disappear into the trees.

He supposed he should have suspected something was wrong, he was quieter than normal when Clark came over. No replied hello or even a smile. He avoided Clarks' eye, his hands shaking as he put them in his pockets. Clark had put it down to an injury, Bruce had gotten quite a nasty cut on his shoulder from one fight on Gotham's streets. Yet when he caught up with Bruce trying to scale a tree he found himself flat on his back.

"Please don't make me climb," Clark begged when he got up. "I'm scared of heights Bruce."

He didn't come down the whole day. It was worrying, especially when Clark could hear his heart alternating between a rabbits foot and its usual steady beat. He tried walking off, seeing if he could spot Bruce better from afar. All he saw when he did was the man curled up, his head between his thighs and breathing deeply. Clark didn't know what to do. He was worried about Bruce's shoulder, about what was going on. Eventually he could do no more than wait him out, which, knowing Bruce, would be just short of forever.

Some sense came to Bruce when it got dark. He climbed down and ordered Clark in no more than one word to get him home. There, he didn't even go see Damian, instead he climbed out the nearest window and disappeared into the smog.

The bad days, as Clark had dubbed them, came more and more often. Clark guessed Gotham wasn't really helping things. It turned out the lull in crime wasn't a hope for things to come. Instead, it was merely Gotham preparing itself, evolving to fight back against Bruce's efforts. The crime lords had nothing on the new set of villains Bruce saw these days. Clark had been horrified himself when he first heard of some of the things going on, thinking that you had to be a special kind of crazy to live in Gotham these days.

Still, Bruce was coping with that. What he wasn't coping with was Clark's continued attempts to help him. His temper was shorter than ever, the never ending patience he had been showing gone in a blink. Clark got hit more than once when he tried taking Bruce to Smallville, both times he had to roll with it or Bruce would have broken something. The force behind was astounding, Bruce was holding nothing back when he punched or kicked Clark. It was like babysitting Damian sometimes, Bruce spending whole days just letting his anger out on Clark. He didn't speak all that much, but when he did it was mostly along the lines of whatever was passing through his brain that day. Nonsense to those who weren't Bruce Wayne.

More often than not Clark didn't even take him to Smallville. When he was as volatile as he was sometimes Clark didn't want to risk anyone else getting caught up on it. Those days he would find a room in the manor, warn Alfred away and tell Bruce to have at it.

Almost always, when he was done, Bruce would look like he'd just killed Clark's puppy, telling him to take him home or running off into the manor without another look.

That didn't mean Clark had given up. On the good days, he would try every trick he could to get Bruce back into society. He had him sit at the Talon most of the time, trying out breathing exercises or distraction techniques. He was getting better at interacting with people, less tense. Around the farm it was like having a best friend. One that knew Clark's secret and that he could have a decent conversation about the world with.

Of course it was after three good days in a row when something had to go wrong. Clark had shown up for his Friday sleepover. Put up with Damian trying to maul him and sampled the delights of a Pennyworth meal. He was ready for his bedtime story, or song, when it didn't come. The night drew on and Damian eventually went to sleep for real.

Three o clock and nothing. Clark was starting to get worried.

He was pacing in the hall, five just gone, when Bruce appeared like a ghost before him. Despite his soft footsteps he looked like hell, stumbling like he was drunk until he was grabbing onto Clark and telling him to get him out of there.

He did, just because Damian had started to wake in his bed, and ran them the quick way to Smallville, startled when Bruce didn't take off running but threw up as soon as they stopped. The tremors were back in his hands, worse they were everywhere, Bruce's pupil's blown wide when Clark got a good look at him. "What happened?"

"Crane," Bruce got out. "Some kind of gas. Damian can't see me like this."

Clark agreed, "We should get you to a doctor?" A glare, "Then what?"

"My blood." He probably should have kept Bruce away from the barn and sharp objects since a pen was stabbing through his skin. "I need to run some tests. You have a science kit around here don't you." It wasn't even a question, Bruce going over on shaky legs to fetch the quaint little science kit Martha had got Clark for his thirteenth birthday. It was meant for a kid, but Bruce thought it was adequate enough since he had the thing torn apart and set up in a matter of minutes.

"What are you looking for?" He just needed to help, he didn't like how fast Bruce's heart was racing. It was worse than the panic attacks, almost thudding out of Bruce's chest.

"Drug makeup. I need an antidote."

To what became clear after a few more minutes of bouncing chemical names off each other. It was like all sense had gone out of Bruce in an instant, he straightened from the microscope looking at Clark like he'd never seen him before. He was curious as to what the effects were, wondering what was going on in Bruce's mind, then wishing he'd never had that thought when he was being kissed. It wasn't an accident, Bruce going in for another one when Clark got his brains back together.

He held Bruce off, the action doing nothing but getting hands on Clark's belt. "Bruce, what are you doing?" His pupils were still large, his heart still hammering, but it wasn't arousal that had Bruce trying to molest him. That glaze in his eyes, he'd seen it before in Nanda Parbat. "Bruce, no."

"Why not? Everyone wants something," He got the feeling he was losing Bruce. "No one's that good. Just let me do it. I don't mind. I actually kind of prefer men." Well he didn't really blame Bruce for that. "Just don't hurt Damian."

"Damian?" He definitely wasn't seeing Clark right now, the shaking taking over completely. "Damian's in Gotham Bruce. He's fine."

Bruce didn't seem to be hearing him either, repeating, "Damian, don't hurt him. Not Damian," until he just stopped, going completely still.

Clark didn't bother batting him off anymore, instead he reached around Bruce to the microscope and took a look himself at the blood sample. It was interesting to look at, from an objective point of view. With his microscopic vision he could see things the microscope couldn't zoom down to, being a kids toy and all. There was a compound in his blood, it was consuming the normal cells, mutating them. It took some running to the library and a commandeered laptop for Clark to get the names of the chemicals he was seeing. Longer than it should have done to look up how to counteract them. By the time he was about to stage a robbery to Luthorcorp Bruce had regained the ability to speak muttering, "Blood, there's so much blood." It was enough for Clark to go get his parents to keep an eye on Bruce.

He feared Bruce would turn volatile the whole time he was mixing and stealing ingredients to Bruce's remedy. He was more pleased than he could remember to go back to find his mom safe and sound, brushing Bruce's hair like he was a child.

He seemed semi normal when Clark handed over the chemical cocktail. Even apologising for anything he might have said. "It's fine," Clark waved off, despite the fact he could still feel Bruce's lips on his own.

It was three hours before Bruce said he was safe to be left alone again. Three hours of relapses, of Clark worrying he'd got the ingredients wrong and listening to Bruce whimpering for Damian. When it was over, Clark thought he was more than entitled to an explanation. Again, almost wishing he hadn't when Bruce said it was a gas that was made to create a person's worst fears. The mind was a terrible thing, and Bruce's terrifying when Clark wondered about how many times he feared for Damian's life for him to be that ready to let Clark do whatever he wanted to him.

One good thing came of the fear gas at least. As soon as they got to Gotham, Bruce didn't disappear into the shadows, instead, he hightailed it to Damian's room, not stopping until he had the boy sprawled over his chest.

He was there long enough for Alfred to come fetch Damian for breakfast, the man disappearing as soon as he saw Bruce, only to come back with two plates full to the brim with pancakes and bacon. Nothing for Clark, but he didn't think he could stomach anything anyway, not after the night he had.

"Thank you," Bruce said. The thanks saying more than just that since Alfred went in for a hug, Bruce curling into it and looking more peaceful than he had in a while.

The night with Crane's fear gas stayed with Clark for a while. Partly because he was horrified at the things people were able to create, and that a man like that was apprehended but Gotham wasn't exactly known for their criminals staying behind bars. Mostly, however, it was because every time he thought about Lana or tried to enjoy the perks of being a teenager, his thoughts kept straying to Bruce.

He would be in the Talon, thinking about catching up with Lana, asking her how her day was going and hoping she had been staying out of trouble. He would be imagining her telling him she wanted to give them a try again, and just when she was going to kiss him he'd think of Bruce instead. It happened more often than he wanted it to. It got to the point where he had to consciously not think about Bruce for him to even contemplate any Lana fantasies anymore.

He knew Bruce could tell what was going through his mind. Now he was officially banned from disappearing without telling Alfred Clark could find him wandering the manor halls instead of wondering where the hell he was. He got another official tour of the manor the first time he came around, distracted most of the time since, firstly, it was the most he'd ever heard Bruce talk, and secondly, Clark's mind kept remembering Bruce kissing him. By the end of it Bruce cut their talk short and went to sulk with Damian, telling his son at least someone in this house was interested in their heritage.

It was inappropriate, distracting and worst of all he couldn't make his mind stop.

"And then we put the flour in," Alfred stood back as Damian made a flour cloud pouring it into the bowl. He'd come over, prepared for a full weekend at the manor, and a whole two days of trying to keep himself appropriate. Of course, nothing could go to plan. The second he stepped through the front door Alfred was telling Clark Bruce was out all day on a stakeout. So, no Bruce to distract him, Clark had looked for something else to do. Namely watch Damian try and bake.

Alfred had his work cut out for him. Patient and quiet as Damian was, he was still two years old, and two year olds didn't like to follow instruction to the letter. When Alfred told him to grease the tray, he did, Clark gave him that, he also greased his two little hands and half of his shirt by the time Alfred turned back around. The sugar had Damian dipping two sticky fingers in for him and a bowl for the cookies. Clark kept well clear when the eggs came in to play. Really, the only part Damian didn't make a mess of was the chocolate. To be fair on the kid, he probably would have if he found it at all tasty. One mouthful and he was twisting his little nose and handing the chocolate over to Alfred to chop.

"Don't like chocolate Damian?" Clark asked, picking the little guy up.

"Bleh." He even stuck his tongue out, emphasising just how much he didn't like it.

"Don't fear Master Clark, Damian does indeed like chocolate. I just made sure this kind would make it to the bowl." The wrapper was tossed over to him, Dark staring up at Clark and making him sympathise with Damian's taste buds. He hadn't liked dark chocolate all that much as a kid either. "They should be ready in fifteen minutes."

Which meant enough time for Alfred to clean Damian off before Bruce came back. That was another weird surprise for Bruce roaming around in the daylight, he was a twenty-four seven father now. At least when he was at the manor. Alfred was having none of Bruce pawning Damian onto him, and made it clear that he created the little guy so Bruce had to take responsibility for him too.

Bruce wasn't the kind of father Clark thought he would be. Damian was a handful, Clark knew it, Alfred knew it, yet when Damian was around Bruce he was like a whole other kid. He did things first time to start with, which, Clark guessed since there wasn't a language barrier there it was probably easier for Damian to understand. He also proved to Clark that Bruce had a fun streak. Damian and Bruce were a mean combination. Clark had hoped with Bruce there to keep Damian busy the assassination attempts would stop. Oh no, they didn't. Instead, Clark was tag teamed, Bruce even giving Damian pointers when it looked like he was struggling. At those times, Clark actually feared for himself. Bruce never tried the same thing twice, and almost all times when he tried his luck against Clark he ended standing over him with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Do we have to bath him or…?" Clark didn't really want to bath Damian. The experiences he had were traumatising, and when he was over at the farm he usually left his dad to do it in case of another drowning experience.

"A new shirt should do it." Truth be told even Alfred was looking a bit apprehensive about bathing Damian, and if Alfred was afraid the world had better be too.

Bruce showed up, his stakeout cut short, just as they had tracked a half naked Damian down to the gardens. In three short moves he had Damian up in his arms, the shirt over his head and a cookie fresh out of the oven in his mouth. "What did I say about running away from Alfred?"

Damian pouted around his cookie, and just like that order was restored. Alfred said something about checking to see what was left before leaving them in the garden.

"We almost had him," Clark defended.

Bruce didn't dignify him with a response. Instead he took Damian to one of the manor's empty ballrooms and taught him how to look pretty on his feet. Bruce dragged him into a few minutes of dance, showing him to releve and pirouette and proving just how much better his son was than him.

"I wasn't made for dancing," Clark laughed when he tripped over his own feet for the sixth time. While he thought himself to have perfect balance he was finding that opinion questioned again and again in Bruce's presence. "The most I can do is slow dance. Even then it's more shuffling than moving."

Bruce stopped correcting him, a glint coming into his eye Clark usually only saw before he had Damian on his back trying to gnaw his skin off. Fortunately, Damian was kept well away from Clark's back, Bruce telling him to go fetch another cookie from Alfred for how good he was being. As he did, the music changed and Bruce was coming back over with a new spring in his step.

"Hands," Bruce demanded. Clark handed his over, thinking it better than resisting. When he did Bruce put one of them on his waist and the other poised in his hand. The grip was soft, barely there, and Clark realised the error of his ways just as Bruce told him to count the music and not step on his toes.

He had to admit, Bruce was a good teacher. He didn't give verbal cues all that much, mostly a few huffed curses in Chinese, and Clark knew they were curses since he'd heard Damian being reprimanded for saying the same thing, and instead he just swayed or moved Clark in the right direction. It was, distracting, that was the most Clark could say on the matter. All those thoughts he'd been trying to keep at bay were rushing back the longer he had his hands on Bruce's waist. Clark caught him watching him out of the corner of his eye, usually he followed it up with a short shove, Clark trying not to fall over as Bruce took them in a different direction. He wasn't that good, but by the time Damian was jumping on Bruce's legs for his turn Clark had a good grasp on the waltz.

Damian, of course, when he got his turn was much more graceful than Clark. Even with his little legs he managed to keep up and twirl with his father. They managed three songs before Damian was sent back to practice standing on his toes and Clark was, once again, dragged back out of his comfort zone.

"I've been meaning to ask you how you are," Clark said, trying not to think about how close Bruce's face was to his. "After the whole, Crane incident, I've not really been alone with you."

"That was not my fault." Clark got the feeling he wasn't talking about getting gassed. "If you wish to speak to me you just have to say."

"Well, I am."

Bruce huffed, correcting Clark's posture for the zillionth time. "I am fine. A bit," The word embarrassed would have fit right in there. "Alfred helps."

"You don't have to be. Embarrassed that is. My mom, she was worried but she knew you weren't in your right mind. And I certainly knew you weren't."

"Still, I feel an apology would be right in this case."

Clark waited for it, surprised he was even getting one knowing how little Bruce spoke. Then stopped waiting when the word apology was the apology. "Like I said, it's fine." He was given a particularly brutal twirl to attempt, actually falling on his face as a result of that one. He wondered how to get dints out of marble floors as he stood to find Bruce still looking uncomfortable in front of him. "Something else on your mind?"

"Did I do anything to you? I remember the hallucination perfectly, however, the physical world and what I did in it still remains patchy. You have been looking at me weirdly."

Damn. He considered lying, or even making up some story of Bruce trying to kill him. But Bruce was a better lie detector than Clark most days. If Clark said something untrue Bruce would probably know and find out the truth in that same lie as well. "You kissed me."

Well, the world didn't end, which was a plus. "So that part happened," Bruce nodded, walking back over to Damian without another word and taking the two of them off to bed.

Just in time too since Damian was starting to yawn through his perfect twirls.

Without having to seek Bruce out for his night time talks Clark didn't have to listen to Bruce through Damian's wall. Still, that didn't mean he didn't want to. The first night sleeping in the manor without listening to Bruce coo over his son Clark had been up all night. He guiltily slid in tonight on the pretence of wanting to clear the air with Bruce when Damian was asleep. He supposed he had to do that too, but really he was just there to hear Bruce do a one man play of Macbeth.

When Damian was asleep, Clark wasn't expecting Bruce to follow him out. He didn't usually even if he was roaming the manor freely. Yet today was full of surprises since he not only followed Clark back to his room but lay on Clark's bed in a way that made it clear he wasn't moving until he said what he needed to say.

Clark decided honesty was the best policy, Bruce was always honest with him after all. Even now that they agreement had been fulfilled he still didn't tell Clark any lies. It was freeing, in a way. "Was Talia the only one to take advantage of you?"

The lack of a reply spoke louder than words.

"In the barn, you didn't really do that much. I mean, for a guy that was gassed up you were pretty coherent. It was just when I touched you, not like that, when you ended up kissing me. I don't know, it's just, been on my mind a lot."

"I suppose it would be," Bruce agreed, looking understanding for all of three minutes before that eyebrow raised and Clark was given Bruce's 'bullshit' look. "Is that the sole reason you have been looking at me then? Because you pity me?"

"I don't pit you." If anything Clark respected Bruce more than anyone else he had met right now, not only for his strength of character.

"No," Bruce mused, hopping off Clark's bed. "Just so you know, I don't appreciate the other reason either. Not right now."

The other reason. Clark's sudden attraction then was easy to figure out after all it seemed. But, "That's not a never."

"No," Bruce agreed a sly smile creeping onto his face. "But it is also not a yes. And when it is a yes you will probably wish it was a no."

"You're not that bad," Clark argued.

Bruce didn't really need to say anything in defence to that, the actions of the past couple of months saying everything for him. "You are young, you are new to these feelings and the idea. It is not a no, but by the time it is a yes I assure you, you will not want it to be."

"Still not a no," Clark grinned, not believing the day had turned out like this. He had went from trying to fight back his thoughts to negotiating a first date. Even then he wasn't sure if it was a first date Bruce was talking about. Did assassins date? He would have to find out, since he was far too invested in Bruce to just let him go.

It wasn't a no. But someday Bruce had said it would be a yes, and until then Clark would prove he would be wanting to ask Bruce out when it was.

"By the way," Bruce tagged, lingering in Clark's door. "I've been thinking about this project. It has to do with my role as Gotham's shadow. I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me make a suit."


End file.
